


Monotone Voice and Healing Hands

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Truce And Consequences [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 38,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: How does a Decepticon telepath fall for an Autobot medic? Or the reverse? Well, it's actually very simple, and it starts with a cross-faction alliance...A series of 28 fics and ficlets loosely chronicling the evolution of an (un)likely relationship.





	1. Dominant

**Author's Note:**

> After months of not managing to write anything -- or at least anything serious, I decided to try and go for something new in the hope it would stimulate my imagination and writing drive. So I picked up the idea of the 28 Fics Challenge again, and this time decided to apply it to a pairing rather than to a single character. And, since I had a few ideas for rarepairs and I liked the idea of Soundwave/Ratchet, I eventually went with it.
> 
> Now, I'm not fully satisfied with all I wrote for the pairing, but at least I got the 28 fics down (plus a potential bonus chapter I'm still working on, though it's slow) and hopefully, you'll still find it enjoyable, dear readers.

It took all the doors of the room to close at the same time with a snap of finality for the gathered Decepticons to realize they had walked straight into a trap.

Truth to be told, Soundwave knew it was a trap from the get-go; it was kinda obvious when you thought about. Starscream and a couple other mechs had realized it as well and had discreetly absented himself from the premises (though all they had gained for their trouble was to get yelled at by Megatron and pursued in the corridors by a determinate Security Team before being dragged to their ‘doom’, so it wasn’t as if they had truly escaped).

Why did Soundwave agree to get caught in it, though? Well, mostly because he knew he had little to fear from the aforementioned trap.

Impassible, he watched as one door opened briefly and Optimus Prime’s Chief Medical Officer strolled in, shoulders squared and a confident expression on his face. Soundwave watched him make his way to the stage, unbothered by the yells directed at him or by the hands trying to grab him and shake him down for answers. Ratchet simply ducked them easily – and, in one occasion, showed that he knew Diffusion by properly lifting and throwing a mech over his shoulder and straight into an agitated group.

From the edge of his vision, Soundwave saw also a few of the most aggressive mechs fall down, as if struck by an invisible force – or, more convenient, an invisible sniper armed with stun munitions. Obviously, confident medic or not, Prime hadn’t thrown his CMO to the wolves and Mirage was taking potshots at whoever he deemed a threat to Ratchet’s well-being. Sensible, that.

“Quiet,” the medic said, and his voice was frosty enough to give all mechs surrounding him pause. They knew that voice. It was the voice of a mech who was within an inch close to lost what remaining patience he had left and go over the edge. And when someone went over the edge… well, the results were rarely pretty. “You have questions. I have answers. Now you shut up and listen, got it?”

Megatron would have been jealous, Soundwave thought. His leader often had to use his fusion cannon to quiet things down in meetings, while the medic managed it by voice alone.

His eyes watched Ratchet’s every move as the medic settled on the stage. Prime’s CMO had a reputation, and not only because of his wide skills in the medical field and the number of miracles he had pulled in saving mechs everyone else had sworn off as lost. Crack shot with a gun, deadly with a well-aimed wrench, wrestler of unruly frontliners, handler of flame-breathing Dinobots, survivor of vorns of cohabitation with Engineer Wheeljack and its ensuing explosions,…

Soundwave didn’t outwardly react, but he felt like his Spark flared briefly when the medic’s gaze fell upon him as he swept it across the room. Ratchet had an expression Soundwave had often seen on Lord Megatron’s face: the expression of a mech who was at the top and who knew it and, as such, had nothing to prove to anyone, but you were welcome to try anyway; just don’t be surprised if you got your aft handed to you.

It was an expression that screamed ‘I’m in charge so square up and listen’.

The expression of a true dominant mech. For some reason and despite knowing he was in no danger, Soundwave swallowed – and promptly ignored the interrogative pings his Cassettes sent at him.

The medic coughed, then his voice literally boomed across the room.

“Welcome, gentlemechs. I’m sure all of you have questions…”

“You bet we have!” a Seeker screamed – one of the Rainmakers, judging by his colors. “What the hell is going on?! Why are we locked up with you?!” He stumbled forward, suddenly mute, and Soundwave got a good view of the stun bullet lodged squarely between his wings. The mechs closest to the downed Seeker shrieked and backpedaled quickly.

“… questions that I’ll have the pleasure to answer in short order,” Ratchet continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. The medic had bolts, that was for sure. He clasped his hands with a big, edgy smile. “As you are aware, the threat the Quintessons are representing for our home world and our continued existence has forced our dear and esteemed leaders to stop punching each other in the face to try and punch the outsiders poaching on their territory instead.”

This earned him a few nervous or amused chuckles.

“We are now formally in an Alliance to Protect Cybertron; huzzah.” Interesting; Soundwave could even hear the capitals. The medic really had an impressive way to modulate his voice – and a good way with sarcasm, apparently. He certainly sounded anything but happy.

“Now, we’re all aware that despite the cease-fire, the treaties and the long, long hours of negotiations between Prime and Lord Megatron and their respective staff, we aren’t all buddy-buddy. Fair enough,” he bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Too much time taking potshots at each other, too many backstabbing and too many explosions and dead friends to just chalk it up and pretend you don’t want your fist to get friendly with that other guy’s face. I understand and I respect it, even if I don’t approve. Newsflash for everyone here, medics **don’t** like to fix up cracked optics and broken nasal ridges due to fistfights; if you come to the Medbay with one, you’ll be on your own. Consider that your first and final warning,” Ratchet waved a finger in the direction of the crowd. “Got it?”

Soundwave prudently nodded, imitated by other sensible mechs, though he was aware of a lot of grumbling. Obviously, the medic’s warning was falling into deaf audials. It wouldn’t last, Soundwave assumed.

“Excuse me, doctor?” Thundercracker raised his hand. He looked unhappy, but not aggressive. “May I respectfully ask why we’re here?”

Ratchet nodded pleasantly. “I was getting to it. You see, among the treaties drafted among our two factions, Megatron and Prime came to a quick agreement over medical care for the troops. Namely, that all medical personnel would repair injured soldier, no matter that soldier’s affiliation OR the medic’s own faction. And,” he added, leaning forward, “to simplify the treatment of the injured, agreements were made to share ALL medical files. I repeat: **ALL** ,” he stressed out, optics shining almost white with pent-up rage.

Some mechs fidgeted and took a few steps back; the smartest had already realized what this was all about. Soundwave just staying calm and impassible, like a rock in the storm.

“I was actually very happy about this decision, you know,” Ratchet commented offhandedly, briefly turning his back to the crowd, showing he didn’t fear them. “My job is already complicated enough without having to deal with an influx of patients for whom I don’t have a medical history. Do you mechs know how hard it is to correctly jumpstart a Spark back into functioning if you don’t know its type? Or how damaging transfusing the wrong kind of energon can be for someone’s systems? I’ll pass you the grisly details about the spread of rust if you don’t receive the right kind of supplements, just because your frame refuses to absorb them naturally – or what trace elements deficiency can do to your processors.” Somewhere in the back, Soundwave was certain he heard Breakdown whimper.

“Yes, I was happy, or at least I was until the Constructicons were kind enough to send me their files for all the patients they had treated so far on the Nemesis,” Ratchet repeated in a middle voice – but when he turned back to the crowd, his expression was thunderous. “So,” he said, and his voice gradually took in force and anger, “imagine my surprise and displeasure when, upon opening them, I realized that **there was almost no files and medical history to speak off because a bunch of dunderheads decided to play ‘skip the medical checkups’ with their medics and refused to answer the most basic questions on their health!** Seriously, are you grown mechs or Sparklings?! You can’t tell me you’re all afraid of needles?!”

Decepticons weren’t coward by nature, and Megatron’s rages and speeches had hammered them into strong mechs. Despite this, Soundwave swore all of them cowered when Ratchet’s started screaming. Strong, dominant mech indeed, he thought faintly.

“This,” the medic snarled, “is completely unacceptable. Never in all my career I have been so incensed, and trust me, I had many cause to lost my nerves and scream at my patients and my superiors for their terminal case of stupidity. Well, no more. I refuse to let this _travesty_ stand any longer. So, with the generous go-ahead of Megatron, it was decided that **I** would give every. Single. Mech. In. This. Room. A complete checkup and systems overhaul if needed. Oh, I know I won’t have my work cut for me,” he commented, watching his digits in a disinterested way. “I know I’ll have to upgrade firewalls and put in antivirus patches, give complete system flushes and potentially treat Interface Transmissible Diseases – yes, I know some of you have them, don’t bother deny it. So be aware that any and all medical exams I’ll give you will be _very_ thorough. But that’s okay! My schedule has been cleared to take care of you for the next few days if needed. Aren’t you lucky?”

“And if we refuse to go through it?” Someone hazarded. Was he brave or was he stupid? Soundwave felt it could be one or both.

Ratchet smiled widely. “Oh, I’m glad someone asked! Well, you see, in agreement with Prime AND Megatron, any soldier I will not have personally handed a clean bill of health will NOT be allowed on the battlefield. No cutting the enemy to pieces, how sad,” he drawled. “AND, because I know some of you will probably try to make a run for it, I received special permission from our dear leaders to put exceptional measures in place. Red Alert, you can open the doors,” he said aloud.

Soundwave turned his head toward the closest one. A big, lumbering shape stood in the doorway, blocking the passage. Swoop wasn’t the most aggressive of the Dinobots, but he was no pushover either. Without weapons (because of course, they hadn’t been allowed to come to this meeting armed) and with only hand-to-hand skills to rely on, he would be hard to budge out of the way and pass. A quick glance toward the other openings revealed the other Dinobots had also taken stands, blocking all exits. For some reason, all of them wore a badge of some-sort on their chest – a black Autobot badge with crossed wrench behind, a bit like those human pirates flags.

“Gentlemechs, meet the newly formed Medbay Security Corps,” Ratchet said lightly. “They’re here to ensure you **don’t’** leave this room before you’re called for your turn and to escort you to the Medbay when called. You may try to escape them, but be aware that they have all latitude to drag your reluctant afts to me by any way necessary, including violence if needed. After all, what’s one repair more to do?” he asked philosophically. “More questions?”

A deep silence followed.

“No? Good,” Ratchet nodded. He clasped his hands again and his smile turned predatory. “Congratulations, gentlemechs; I’m now officially your medic, and your afts are now officially mine!”

He bowed mockingly to the crowd.

“Now, who would like to be the first?” he smiled, showing too much teeth.

Soundwave glanced around, then shrugged and made his way to the stage. Ratchet watched him come with a raised optic ridge. “Well, aren’t you the courageous one. And… what is it?” he asked, frowning as Soundwave handed him a datapad.

He had spent time compiling the data insides and he was pleased he had had the foresight to bring it with me (though, to be fair, that foresight had been greatly helped by Laserbeak and Ratbat sneaking around and spying on Megatron’s meeting with the medic a few days ago. It had given him time to prepare.

“Datapad: contains all medical information for Soundwave and Cassettes. Health bilan: as up to date as possible. Contains: date of latest checkup and system overhaul; state of current firewalls; list of antivirus installed; list of vaccines undertaken already; list of infectious diseases already caught; list of previous repairs made in the last vorn; date of…” Soundwave listed off, only to be interrupted.

“Seriously? How come the Constructicons didn’t have that?”

Soundwave gave the medic a wry look behind his visor. “Constructicons: engineers. Soundwave: rather not share but with real medics.” Plus, no way he was letting his Cassettes’ safety in the hands of mechs who could use it against them. Ratchet was a true medic; he had sworn vows – and intel about him was consistent enough for Soundwave to take a calculated risk. Ratchet never used your medical history against you and yours.

“Smart aft,” Ratchet drawled, turning on the pad and scanning the content. “I’ll have to check all of you to make sure it’s real and as up-to-date as your claim, but the data is very much appreciated.” He gave Soundwave a considering look. “... it’s good to know there are some smart ‘Cons here.”

The grudging admittance made Soundwave smile behind his facemask. Good to know he still knew how to take on a dominant mech. “Soundwave: aims to please.”


	2. Book-Reading

The small room was tucked away so deep into the Ark and in such an unexpected place that not once before Soundwave had suspected it existed. A dozen shelves, each full of neatly stacked datapads and a comfortable looking sofa and seat placed in a L-shape with a low table making the corner, and a big (but quite ugly, as far as Soundwave’s tastes were concerned) rug spread over the floor… There were no questions in his mind about the room’s purpose.

“Soundwave: unaware the Ark had a library,” he said slowly, standing in the doorway and not daring to enter, less he would crowd and perhaps irritate the sole mech sitting inside. Many Autobots resented the Decepticons’ presence in their base and Soundwave made a point of not transgressing boundaries if he could, less the resentment would impact the necessary but still somewhat shaky cooperation between their factions.

And Ratchet had… a temper, he reflected as he reviewed his files on the Autobot CMO. The mech certainly didn’t seem happy to see him but Soundwave was unsure if it was because of him specifically or if the medic would have been unhappy to see anyone while he was apparently enjoying his time off to read.

“What,” the medic drawled, “your little army of spies never made it so far?”

Soundwave shifted uneasily because, well, alliance or not, Megatron had been quite insistent that no one was to spill secrets or else…

“That said,” the medic continued, turning off the pad he had been reading and putting it on the table, “I suppose it’s just as well if they never did. Knowing those little hellions, they’d probably have ransacked the whole place.”

Now Soundwave had to frown. “Accusation: incorrect. Cassettes: know better than to destroy bookfiles.” A least for the sake of destruction in itself; if it filled a mission objective, then they would gladly tear a library to shreds, as sad as it was. “Soundwave: wouldn’t have permitted it,” he tried again.

Ratchet harrumphed, looking unconvinced, but he didn’t straight up call him a liar, so Soundwave suspected it was a good thing. “You can come in, you know,” the medic said suddenly, startling the Cassette Holder. “This place is for everyone. You can come and read when you want. If you want to borrow something, fill the register on your left – and be aware Red Alert patched all datapads with a custom alarm should they be damaged to taken outside the Ark,” he warned without bite.

“Soundwave: thankful for the invitation,” the blue mech nodded as he entered and made his way to the shelves slowly, keeping an optic on Ratchet behind his visor as he did so.

The medic waved it asides. “No need for thanks, I’m just stating the rules.” He took back his pad and leaned back in his seat, returning to his reading.

Soundwave temporarily stopped to watch him in order to peruse through the library’s collection. It was quite heteroclite to say the least, and he said as much.

“Everyone pitched in to put the library together,” Ratchet replied calmly, not rising his face from his pad. “Some gave old pads they didn’t read anymore, other gave copies of their favorites to share with everyone, and many were found during our times cleaning up the rubbles accumulated in the Ark.”

Soundwave hummed noncommittally. If he read behind the lines, it basically meant the bookfiles had been salvaged from inhabitable quarters crushed in the crash… or quarters that had belonged to crew members deceased during said crash. The Decepticons had lost a number of troops themselves when the Ark struck the volcano, all those vorns ago. Himself had lost his three Communication Assistants…

Oh, well. Better not dwell on it too much. They had been lucky enough to survive in the first place.

Calmly, he read the visible labels and pulled a few pads for closer inspection. The very bottom shelf was full of copies of human texts and stories and Soundwave summarized they had been brought by the Autobots’ human allies; he had no idea what Peter Pan or Alice in Wonderland or Dr Seuss were about and he had no inclination to learn at the time, so he quickly dismissed them, just as he dismissed the image books (though he noted that they at least seemed to be some kind of documentaries). The rest of the shelves were… strange.

Two copies of the Covenant of Primus (quite expected, given the Autobots were serving the Prime), three copies of the Autobot Code (dull surprise, that), a treaty of philosophy so old it must have been written when Alpha Trion had still been a young mech, half a dozen files on medical issues (potentially Ratchet’s own contribution, Soundwave thought with a glance behind him), 101 ways to make Energon Goodies, the complete encyclopedia of Cybertron’s fauna and flora in ten volumes, an anthology of old Iaconian legends, the complete works of poet Oceanglide, a few romance novels Soundwave had never heard about, a book on the laws of rules of Praxus (potentially a contribution from Prowl), The Birth of Cybertron, a novel in Old Malignus (who on the Ark spoke that?), a complete (and likely heavily edited to comply with Autobot propaganda) History of Cybertron, a safety manual edited by the Engineering Guild, a Cyberglyphic dictionary, a basic introduction to Cybertronian glyphs and grammatical structure…

The last two made him pause, ridges furrowed behind his visor. He turned on himself and looked through the open door, making Ratchet pauses in his reading.

“A problem?” he inquired sharply.

“Query: can questions be asked to Medic Ratchet?” the Cassette Holder let out.

The medic gave him a look. “Depend on the questions, I suppose,” he replied evenly, crossing his legs.

Soundwave hesitated briefly, wondering how to formulate his suspicions without sounding condescending or aggressive. “Purpose of the library: helping the Dinobots self-development?” he finally asked, modulating his voice so genuine curiosity could be perceived. He usually didn’t like letting his emotions show with mechs he didn’t trust implicitly, but for the sake of this alliance, he had to force himself.

Ratchet’s optic ridges rose high. “How the Pit did you reach that conclusion?” He didn’t sound upset, which was good. Just merely baffled and – if Soundwave understood the lingering undercurrent, quite pleased by the assumption. That must have meant he was right, then.

Soundwave shrugged. It made sense, really. This very room was situated only a few doors away from the Dinobots’ ‘Den’, as some called it – which was, all things considered, the most likely reason neither Soundwave nor his Cassettes knew a library existed on the Ark in the first place. Soundwave had always given strict instructions not to come too close to the Dinobots after evaluating their threat level as ‘too high to cross during infiltration’.

“Answer: obvious, isn’t it?” he said aloud, gesturing at the rest of the library. The room was small, but not so small that a mech of, said, Grimlock’s size couldn’t come in and comfortably sit with room to spare (and the couch was the perfect size too, come to think). He wasn’t an expert, but the human titles seemed to hint at simple tales accessible to beginner readers or, at the very least, at the human’s equivalent of Sparklings. Grammar books and dictionaries hinted at helping self-improvement, and no one on the Ark had simpler speech patterns than the Dinobots.

Honestly, it was easy to picture one or several of the big, lumbering mechs coming in and sitting down with a book or pick one to go read in the safety of their quarters, where no one could mock them as they did so. The close proximity could only help, because it let the Dinobots in a comfort zone they didn’t have to leave.

It was ingenious, Soundwave thought to himself.

Ratchet was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. Soundwave didn’t fidget, but it was a close thing. So much attention and intensity was unnerving, though not totally unwelcome, for he could see a new respect in the medic’s optics. “Not so obvious to everyone,” the medic let out slowly in a breath. “Do you know that you’re about the, oh, only sixth person to realize it? And the others don’t count that much, since they were in the known already or in Special Ops,” he scoffed.

Nobody could keep a secret from Special Ops for long, Soundwave acknowledged. Still, it surprised him no one else among the Autobots seemed to get the purpose of this place. Surely, they didn’t think the Dinobots were THAT dumb?

“They’re not stupid, you know,” Ratchet murmured, his datapad fully abandoned as he stared at Soundwave. Soundwave just nodded silently.

“Wheeljack and I did our best, but there is only so much you can do with substandard materials and so little time to put everything together, especially when it’s the first time you’re building a whole body from scrap. We had to make choices on what systems to prioritize and which ones to keep simple. Sometimes, I regret we went so cheap on speech programming,” he sighed. “That’s why most of the other Autobots keep thinking they’re dumb, by the way. Just because they can’t speak like everyone else and their size and joints make it awkward for them to move gracefully or without accidentally hitting something.” He pinched the bridge of his olfactive sensor. “We learned from our mistakes with the Aerialbots, I’ll grant you that, but I wish we didn’t make those errors in the first place with the Dinobots.”

“Dinobots: young,” Soundwave pointed out obligingly. He could have said more, so much more, like how in that moment, he felt a sort of kinship with the medic. He certainly understood Ratchet’s frustration about other people’s misconceptions. How many times did Soundwave have to deal with people who refused to acknowledge his Cassettes were perfectly sentient and smart, despite their animalistic aspect? He had had to sooth hurt feelings and subtly plan revenge more than once on their behalf. “Improvement: will come in time.”

Ratchet nodded warily. “Yes, they are, not that people consider it an excuse. As for improvement…” Now he did smile. “Well, the ones who are truly concerned for them are doing all they can to help them along.”

“Query: method employed working?” Soundwave asked in genuine curiosity.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. They do love reading, though Sludge and Snarl prefer when people actually read to them and Slag refuses to even consider picking something if it doesn’t have pictures in it. Spike suggested getting them comics, but it’s hard to find something in the right size for them to hold,” Ratchet shrugged.

“Ah. Rumble and Frenzy: very much the same; Ratbat: also prefers being read to,” Soundwave confided. He didn’t know why; he rarely confided anything regarding his charges’ preferences to outsiders. Ratchet, however, didn’t seem like the type of mech who would use such an information against them – and since he had just shared something private with him, it was only right for Soundwave to share something in turn, wasn’t it?

Ratchet smiled. “Your youngest, right?” he guessed, which Soundwave confirmed with a nod. “I wonder if it’s a phase they all go through.”

“Soundwave: unsure. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw: never displayed that tendency,” Soundwave shook his head. “Query: any story adapted for young mechanisms in there?” he gestured at the shelves. He hadn’t seen everything, but if he could narrow down titles…

“Mostly in the ‘human’ section, sorry,” Ratchet smiled while Soundwave let out a sigh that wasn’t faked. It was a very nice smile, he thought absently. One he wouldn’t mind seeing more often, especially if it was aimed at him. “But some of those things are worth a look. You should check them out yourself; you’d be surprised. Humans are more creative than many Cybertronian authors I had the misfortune to read.”

Soundwave wasn’t convinced, but if the medic thought so… At random, he picked a datapad. “Query: ‘Harry Potter’: good read?”

Ratchet’s smile widened while he gestured at Soundwave to go sit in the couch. “Now, why don’t you try to find out yourself?”

“Comment: ominous,” Soundwave remarked as he accepted the invitation and settled himself as comfortable as possible, grabbing a cushion to wedge in the small of his back.

“Why should I spoil the surprise?” Ratchet replied, picking up his pad again. Soundwave glanced at the title as he did so.

Hmm. If this ‘Harry Potter’ fiction was a bust, perhaps he’d try to borrow that ‘Lord of the Rings’ thing Ratchet was currently reading. Surely, if the medic enjoyed it, it couldn’t be so bad?


	3. Turned On

The shot took him by surprise. As far as Soundwave knew, it had literally come from nowhere, or rather somewhere well-past the edge of his sensors. Sniper, he realized dimly as he fell down. Slag; he hadn’t accounted on them! Quintessons seldom used them, preferring to send legions after legions of Sharkticons and drones, sparing no thought about their destruction since they had plenty of reserves.

Slaggers were getting smarter. But, he thought with vindictive satisfaction as he heard quick, rapid shots snap from well above him, the Autobots had better shooters on their side and better long range weapons. The sniper who had gotten Soundwave was as good as dead already now they had revealed their position; Bluestreak would see to it. For an Autobot, the young mech had a killer instinct that’d make any Decepticon proud.

Trusting that the problem would be resolved in short order, Soundwave started to crawl to put himself in relative safety. It was, sadly, easier said than done, because if the sniper had missed vital systems (thank to a last minute dodge prompted by a warning from Laserbeak and Ravage, who both had seen the shot coming from different angles), he still had managed to half blow the telepath’s leg.

Soundwave managed to drag himself behind a pile of rubbles against which he leaned in a sitting position, grimacing as he took in the damage. His knee had been torn open, leaving a deep gouge with jagged, sharp edges blackened and warped by the heat. Hydraulic fluid, oil and energon dripped from the wound, which wasn’t a good sign, not with the sparking. The last thing he needed was the fluids accidentally bursting into fire and causing more internal damages!

There wasn’t much to be done about it, though, he thought grimly. His systems kept sending him error messages when he tried to release suppressants. The most he managed to do was to reroot the power in a few adjacent circuits to limit the sparking. Prudently, he tried to turn his leg over, only to choke back on a scream as pain overwhelmed his sensors. Shrapnel littered the back of his calf and part of his thigh, he realized. He entertained briefly the notion to pull them out before squashing it down. If he did, he might just worsen the injuries. Well, wasn’t it just peachy! There was no way he would be able to stand on that leg, let alone walk, and crawling would only further the damages.

Sighing and realizing there was nothing he could do, Soundwave swiftly turned on his heavily encrypted distress signal, head lolling in relief when he received an acknowledgement ping. Help was on its way; he just needed to wait.

Settling himself as comfortably as he could against the rubbles, he let his optics dart right and left, already searching for upcoming allies. Having never used the distress beacon before, he had no idea how long it usually took.

While he had had his doubts initially, Soundwave had to give it to Blaster and Red Alert: putting together a beacon for injured mechs to coordinate the efforts of the medical team had been a good idea. Or at least it was so long the Quintessons didn’t manage to decrypt the code they were using. New encryption was constantly added and ameliorated, but if they slipped only once…

The beacon pinged back at him again, warning him the medibot was near his position. Soundwave sighed internally in relief, though the relief turned a bit sour when he finally saw **who** had been dispatched to come and help him.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” Ratchet quipped, crouching down at his side and immediately put himself to work, swearing under his breath.

Now, Soundwave wasn’t unhappy to see the Autobot CMO. Ratchet was an excellent doctor, possibly the best Cybertron had left, so he knew he was in safe hands. They had spoken before and while Soundwave would hesitate to call their relationship ‘friendship’, he found himself comfortable in the other mech’s presence and vice versa.

But for all his good will, Soundwave’s Decepticon pride still shafted at the idea he was now depending on an Autobot to save his life. It was ridiculous, and yet…

Ratchet’s hands were working on him, small tools digging into the torn edges and sealing leaking conducts, deadening sensors and doing stuff Soundwave was probably better not knowing about.

“Well, they didn’t miss you; it’s not life threatening, but I hope you know how to hop around on one foot, because I’m afraid the entire foreleg is a bust. I’ll probably have to amputate,” Ratchet warned when he finally raised his head.

“Soundwave: unsurprised,” the telepath groused. He had gathered as much when he had realized just how many shrapnel had gotten into him. Given all they had pierced, it was simply more efficient to take out the damaged limb and replace it by prosthesis for now. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though.

“Aren’t you a cheery fellow,” the medic drawled, putting back his tools into his kit – an impressive mod which was grafted to his hips. “Alright, time to get out of here. Prime is going to call for a carpet bombing soon – too many little fraggers setting up ambushes around here,” he explained as he moved, arms reaching for Soundwave, ready to… lift him up?

The telepath flinched. “Query: what is Ratchet is doing?” he asked stiffly.

“Funny question; how do you think I’m going to evacuate you exactly?” the medic raised an optic ridge at him. “In case you forgot, it’s uneven, unsteady ground around it. I’m not using my altmode until we’re clear.”

A perfectly valid and logical answer, but… Seriously? “Soundwave: …”

“If you say you can walk, I’ll personally knock you out with my biggest wrench. I already did it to Megatron, I’m not afraid to do it to you too,” the medic mentioned casually.

It gave Soundwave pause. “Ratchet: took down Lord Megatron?” That shouldn’t be possible, but…

“Oh, for Primus’ sake! Do you think we have the time for idle chatter or Questions 101?,” the medic snapped and, without letting Soundwave the time to protest, proceeded to bodily lift him up in a bridal carry, settling him easily again his chest as he took a jog, apparently unbothered by the weight in his arms.

Soundwave squeaked in surprise. Well, frag!

… and now Ratchet’s statement about Megatron made a lot more sense. Megatron was a strong mech, so it’d take someone even stronger to put him down, blunt, improvised weapon or not. The medic didn’t look like it, but… he was pretty strong himself, wasn’t he? Soundwave didn’t look like it, but he was actually really heavy for a mech his size, thank to his Deck and the supporting systems for his Cassettes. When they grappled or trained together, even Megatron had a hard time pushing him down or lifting him up.

And Ratchet was doing it as if it was nothing. As if Soundwave weighted no more than a feather.

Primus!

It made an awful lot of sense, Soundwave realized as he hooked his arms around Ratchet’s arms to steady himself. Medic had to be strong, because you never knew when you’d need to defend yourself from an aggressive patient or when you’d have to drag (or carry) people out of danger zones. Logical. Perfectly logical.

And so, so hot, too.

Soundwave had always liked strong mechs. He’d hesitate to call it a kink, but… Good looking, able to thrown him over their shoulder, pin him down on a flat surface and have their wicked way with him **was** a long term fantasy he rarely had been able to indulge him and it came as a shock and a pleasant surprise to realize he knew one mech asides of Megatron who would be able to do just that if he wished…

“… Soundwave? You know I have a very dense array of sensors, right?” the medic commented out of the blue and Soundwave startled. What…? “I’m just saying, because your systems are picking up heat, your EM field is kinda buzzing with excitement, and if you aren’t revving yet, I’m sure it’s going to happen soon if you don’t stamp down on it. I don’t mind turning on mechs, but I don’t think now is the right time,” he gave the telepath a look, the shadow of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his optics.

Soundwave blinked, then his jaw dropped open behind his facemask. Oh sweet Primus, grant him mercy!

He made a weird noise, as if his vocalizer was short-circuiting, as he pulled his EM field closer to him and started to power down as many systems as he could. It was stupid because his visor and facemask hide it already, but he still hide his face in one of his hands, whimpering. If the ground could open and swallow him up, it would be doing him a favor.

“Soundwave: excuse himself,” he managed with as much dignity as he could. Which, admittedly, wasn’t that much.

Ratchet snorted. “Whatever for? You’d hardly be the first mech I treat who develop a medic fetish.”

No, Soundwave thought dimly as they reached the medical outpost and he was handed over to a pair of nurses. Not a medic fetish; a _Ratchet_ fetish.

… and he was not going to dwell on it too much right now. Being turned on was one thing; getting horny in public due to inappropriate fantasies was another, and one humiliation he wished to spare himself from.

Later, he decided. Like, ‘his berth once he got released from medical’ later.

He had a lot of things to ponder.


	4. Horny

Contrarily to what many of his fellow Decepticons and almost the totality of the Autobots thought, Soundwave wasn’t a very intelligent drone, thank you very much. Just because he preferred to keep quiet and didn’t feel comfortable mingling with other mechs unless he had vetted them personally, it didn’t make him any lesser. Soundwave had feelings and he could feel intensely, perhaps more so than the average mech thank to his telepathy. It was both a gift and a curse, for while it granted him an edge in his duties, it also made him feared and avoided by people who misunderstood the extent of his ability.

Plus, without proper fields and filters in place, it could easily overwhelm him. There was nothing more embarrassing than accidentally dropping his shields and picking up that the couple living in the room next to him were, ah, ‘copulating like Petro-rabbits’ and enjoyed it immensely.

It usually put his systems in a bind and he had to relieve himself then, chasing away the parasite arousal which had awakened his own.

Because yes, unlike what people also whispered, Soundwave also had a sex drive.

His Cassettes could attest it. Not that they would; Soundwave’s private life was, like, private, and they respected it if nothing else.

Anyway.

Existing libido or not, Soundwave had to concede he didn’t often have the occasion to act on it. One of the downsides of being at the top of the Decepticon hierarchy was that it seriously shortened his list of potential berth partners. If they weren’t afraid he was spying on them (give him credit; he had the Cassettes for that!), then they were intimidated by how much power he wielded and felt like they couldn’t refuse him, even if they weren’t actually interested in Soundwave.

It was _extremely_ unappealing. Soundwave was many things, but he wasn’t a rapist – which he’d basically turn himself into should he not be careful.

Suffice to say, after some fudging around, Soundwave had logically concluded that self-service and solo act were to be his lot in life for an undisclosed amount of time.

It didn’t happen often, of course. Outside of the fact Soundwave had learned to keep his shields up to not get too affected by lingering sexual tensions and intents, he felt there was just something pathetic about only using your hand to reach completion. Once or twice was understandable and kinda unavoidable when desire overwhelmed you, but to **only** have your hand as a source of pleasure?

Tonight, though, Soundwave didn’t really care.

Lying flat on his berth, optics focused on the ceiling, he was palming his spike, pumping it slowly while he thought about a certain mech’s smirk and shiny blue optics, lips slightly parted as he keened. He thought of powerful arms lifting him off the ground, of white legs stomping on a Quintesson reconnaissance drone with ease. He thought of enticing red hips which trusted forward and…

His hand contracted around his spike brutally as he stamped down on his upcoming overload. Not yet! Just… no yet. He was horny as the Pit and, despite all misgiving, he wanted it to last.

He hid his face under his free hand, rubbing his forehead uneasily. Frag, it was so embarrassing. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he had such an, ah, obvious reaction to another mech. The worst, though? It was knowing that _Ratchet_ , the mech he was busy fantasizing on while he stroked himself or fingered his valve (something he had taken his sweet time into doing earlier), **knew** Soundwave had gotten affected by his presence.

It wasn’t just the strength, of course. The few conversations he had had with the medic since the alliance had been built had been nice, void of any prejudice outside of the initial reserve expected by centuries of fighting, and insightful. He was nice, good with kids (for a certain value of the word ‘kids’; the Dinobots were the biggest and most lethal Sparklings Soundwave had ever met), caring, witty, smart, handsome and so _strong_ …!

Overload took him by surprised and he cried out weakly as transfluid spurted out of his spike while the walls of his valve clenched in quick spasms that were almost painful to bear. He shuddered then fell utterly still again, optics still glued to the ceiling.  
Primus…

He… He needed to do something about it, soon. Needed to tell Ratchet he was interested into pursuing… _something_ with him. It didn’t even have to be something meaningful, it could just be a quickie, but Soundwave wanted the other mech, badly.

But… would the medic want to, would want him?

That was a question for which he didn’t have any answer.

And unless he managed to soldier on and ask him or just do something stupid like, like _kissing_ him out of the blue and watch for his reaction, Soundwave had no way to know.

And, he thought miserably, he didn’t think he had the courage to do it just yet. How did one approach a former enemy and tell him you thought he had a nice aft, anyway? Because Ratchet definitely did. A very nice, large aft that dragged Soundwave’s optics like a magnet and…

He was getting horny again.

Well, frag, he sighed, hand starting to pump again.


	5. Drinking Energon

Parties on the Ark were nothing unusual. Optimus Prime had always believed in helping his troops’ morale through gathering filled with music, good fun and energon. The last part had been something of a sore point for long and parties had decreased in size, frequency and intensity over time – or at least until they woke on Earth, struck a deal with the humans, and managed to refill their reserves.

Tonight, however, was special. It was the very first party organized by the troops ever since the alliance with the Decepticons had been signed.

And, Ratchet thought with amusement, it promised to be a blast.

Perhaps it was because they wanted to show off, but the usual party organizers had really surpassed themselves this time. Blaster had taken upon himself to stand as DJ and bring in his own music stack, which was impressive in itself. Someone had managed to get Sunstreaker to do the decoration, explaining why there was a giant, glowing mural spread over the whole room and some tasteful lightning provided by a variety of multicolor bulbs. And unless he missed his mark, Sideswipe had brought out the heavy stuff when it came to drinks; standard energon and oil asides, Ratchet recognized the variant of purple shown by some cubes as particularly potent and made a note not to abuse it (even if he was definitely going to nab a cube or two of that). Who had made the goodies was a bit more mysterious, but given the shape, Ratchet would place good money on Mirage.

Decepticon attendants seemed to be suitably impressed, if their expression was anything to go by, the medic thought as he sipped a lifted cube happily.

Cherry on the top, as the humans said, nobody seemed in the mood to hit someone else, which was always a boon. Alliance or not and fair warning from the medical staff or not, fist fights tended to happen like clockwork between Autobots and Decepticons – or just between Decepticons. Megatron’s troops had some nasty habits and very high-strung processors.

Meh. Not his problem tonight, he decided. Tonight, he was just here to enjoy the fuel and perhaps dance a bit if he felt like that.

Or at least that was the plan anyway.

So why in the Pit was he now sitting at a table in the middle of a growing circle of mechs, a neat row of full cubes lined up before him?

Oh, right, because some people were idiots, he sighed internally. And because, apparently, Ratchet had been chosen to defend the ‘honor’ of the Autobots in a drinking competition. Oh, well. Why the Pit not, after all? He wasn’t on shift in the morning, he’d have plenty of time to recover before he had to work should he get overcharged (and he would).

“Feeling up to the challenge?” he asked lightly to his adversary.

If the Autobots had chosen Ratchet, better known once upon a time as the ‘Party Ambulance’, the Decepticons’ choice had ended on Soundwave for an unknown reason. Either because, like Ratchet, the telepath actually had a high tolerance to potent drinks or because someone thought it’d be fun to try and get the normally inexpressive mech drunk. If it was the first option, Ratchet could say he’d enjoy the challenge. If it was the second, he’d make sure to slip Megatron’s TIC something for processor aches before the end of the party.

Soundwave just nodded once. “Soundwave: ready,” he announced.

No discomfort in his voice or posture, Ratchet noted. Perhaps Soundwave would actually be a challenge, then. A thrill of pleasure went down Ratchet’s spinal strut. The Twins and Jazz asides, it’d been vorns since anyone had seriously challenged him in a drinking competition, and he had yet to lose one. A new challenger was always welcome.

Grabbing the first cube, Ratchet lifted it up in a toast. Soundwave stayed still for a klik before imitating him. “May the best drunkard win,” the medic winked as ‘bots and ‘Cons cheered around them.

“Soundwave: never lose,” the other mech replied in turn, facemask snapping open, revealing his mouth. He was smiling. Obviously, he wasn’t being coerced too hard into playing along. It reassured the medic; if Soundwave had truly been unwilling to play along, he’d have put a foot down and stopped the competition before it even started.

But if Soundwave didn’t seem bothered, then all bets were off.

“Well, what do you know? There is a first time for everything,” Ratchet chuckled merrily.

“Likewise,” the telepath replied, and then both of them took their first sip.

The game was on, and neither of them had any intention to lose.


	6. Daring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think won the drinking contest from last chapter? ;)

“Soundwave: absolutely not drunk.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Ratchet drawled.

He had to give it to Megatron’s Third in Command, Soundwave’s voice was very steady for a mech who had ingurgitated twenty cubes of energon in a single evening. No slurring, no stuttering. There was, perhaps, a hint of unsteadiness and waver underlying his speech, but he managed to hide it rather well. Ratchet was grudgingly impressed; it took talent to manage that. Talent, and experience into showing up at work intoxicated beyond acceptable levels. It made him wonder where Soundwave had acquired that set of skills and if wherever or not Megatron and Starscream _explosive_ relationship was to blame.

So yeah, no discernible (or almost no discernible) alteration of speech patterns.

What Soundwave couldn’t hide, however, was his inability to walk in a straight line anymore – or even to stand straight, period. Which was why Ratchet, being the gracious Spark he was (and totally cheered up by his victory over the Decepticon telepath in the grand drinking game they had pertained in, which didn’t help), had volunteered to help Soundwave walk back to his assigned habsuite.

Well, volunteered was a big word; he had seen Soundwave trying to leave and decided to call it a night as well, leaving the party and the dance floor behind in favor of supporting a fellow Cybertronian. See, Optimus, I’m making effort for this alliance to work; aren’t you proud?

Good thing he did too, because Soundwave would never have managed alone. Not with the way he was half sprawled over Ratchet’s frame, an arm looped around his shoulder and pedes dragging over the floor with each step, sometimes hiccupping as energon backfired in his tank.

So much for being able to walk under his own power! Really, some mechs were just stubborn. Would it have actually hurt Soundwave to acknowledge he needed help?

…

Uh. Perhaps it would have, once upon a time. Had to be a Decepticon thing not to show you were incapacitated. Ah, well. No matter if it was; Ratchet was too polite to bring it up anyway.

He was also too polite to do what was on his mind since a while now: just scoop up Soundwave in his arms and bodily carry him to his habsuite, regardless of (not) drunk protests Soundwave could walk just fine, give him a klik to gather himself.

The poor mech would have been mortified, especially if his EM field lashed out like last time Ratchet thought while fighting back a giggle. Who would have thought prime and proper Soundwave could…?

“My room: just here,” Soundwave waved vaguely with his free hand, trying to take a step forward alone. Ratchet immediately shifted to steady him before he fell face-first on the floor.

“So I see,” he nodded, coming closer and starting to type his own access code to open the door. Perks of being a medic, he had the power to override any lock in the Ark or on any Autobot base. It drew Red Alert and security teams in general in high frenzy, but even they couldn’t deny it was needed; as a medic, Ratchet needed to be able to get in everywhere if there was an emergency. It had come in handy several times, especially with mechs so deep into despair they had locked themselves in and attempted to eat their own blaster…

“And you’re home,” he concluded as the door slide open. Good to know the Decepticons (or at least Soundwave) hadn’t tried to erase the medical override protocols from the door systems. “You’re going to be alright?” He didn’t offer to accompany Soundwave insides; the telepath probably wouldn’t have appreciated, nor his Cassettes if they were here. Allies they might be now, but they had still spent thousands of vorns shooting at each other. Besides, Ratchet tended to respect a mech’s privacy. So he was going to take a leap of faith and trust that Soundwave had enough power and good sense to reach his berth before he fell in recharge (and he was going to ask him to present himself at the Medbay first thing in the morning to check him up).

Soundwave nodded. “Ratchet’s assistance: very appreciated.” He was watching him now, and Ratchet felt like fidgeting.

“It was nothing, I…” he trailed off as he heard and saw Soundwave’s facemask slide open. Now he was the one staring; never before tonight had he seen the telepath’s face – or his half face, whatever. High cheekbones, a small chin, plump and well-drew lips,… It was rather nice to look at, he noted distractedly. He hadn’t really taken notice during their binge drinking, but now…

“Soundwave?”

The blue mech didn’t answer. He tried to, Ratchet, supposed, because those lips moved. But no word came out.

And out of nowhere, Soundwave suddenly lunged forward and Ratchet blinked at those lips landed themselves on him. The telepath might have aimed for the medic’s own mouth, but all he managed to do was to awkwardly press them to the corner of Ratchet’s lips, almost hitting his nose.

“Ratchet: handsome,” Soundwave said and now, the medic could really hear the slurring. Wow.

“You got to be more drunk than I thought for daring to pull that stunt,” the medic blinked. ‘Handsome’, uh? Nice to know his age hadn’t damaged his good looks. And… frag. He had been kissed by a drunk mech. “Where did that come from?”

Soundwave pouted (frag, that looked cute). “Soundwave: not allowed to be daring?”

“Not when you’re drunk you’re not,” Ratchet found himself saying before sighing. “Listen. I’m flattered, I really am. But when a mech want to kiss me, I’d like him to be sober. Easier for me to decide it’s alright to kiss him back, yeah?” And he wanted to, damnit, because Soundwave’s lips looked really, really kissable and getting a taste sounded great.

But.

Soundwave was drunk, and you didn’t take advantage of a drunk mech, even if the other mech had initiated it. ESPECIALLY when the other mech had initiated it. Sure, energon aplenty in your systems lowered your inhibitions and made you act up on impulse on things you wanted to do already, but there was still a bit consent issue here. Your judgment is impaired by the pleasant buzz in your system? Then you can’t truly consent and only scum would take advantage of that.

And Ratchet wasn’t scum. His berthside manners could suck exhausts when he was angry or not in the mood to deal with idiots, he was cynical and sarcastic, but he liked to think he was a good mech.

So gently, he grabbed Soundwave’s shoulders and pushed him inside his habsuite while looking at him in the optics.

“You want me to kiss you back, then you’ll come to see me when you’ve worked that excess energy off. Then you can kiss me again, and perhaps I’ll kiss you back, hum?”

“Ratchet: promise?” the telepath asked in a small, hopeful voice.

Cute, cute, cute, Ratchet’s CPU screamed at him. “Yes,” he said throatily, and he meant it. “I promise. I’ll kiss you, and more if you want.”

And given the beaming smile he received in turn, he should do as well to clear his schedule when Soundwave did. Something told him he’d be too busy to see to his patients anyway…


	7. Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Cassettes are getting concerned (and protective)/

“Okay, I’ll bite: what’s going on with the Boss?” Rumble whispered at his twin’s audio receptor as he warily eyed Soundwave move around the room with a bounce in his step the Cassette had never witnessed before. That wasn’t the most freaky, though, oh no. The freakiest part, as far as Rumble was concerned, was the way the Boss kept admiring himself in the mech-sized mirror he had brought from Primus knew where, occasionally picking a rug and wax out of subspace to rub at various spots on his frame, chasing away microscopic dust grains.

Uh. Perhaps he had stolen it from the yellow twin prick room, or the flying Corvette’s quarters? If so, serve them right, but also, frag! Why hadn’t Rumble been involved in the grand thievery if that was the case?! Not fair!

“Dunno,” his brother replied on the same tone with a shrug. “He’s like that since I came back from mission. Not sure what’s going on through that processor of his.”

“Think he’s drugged?”

“Naw, we’d feel it,” Frenzy replied after a moment of reflection. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s… excited?” he finished dubiously, sharing an helpless look with his brother.

That made no sense. Soundwave didn’t get excited, period. Their Holder was the calmest, most self-controlled mech they had ever known asides of Shockwave, and Shockwave didn’t count because there was just something plain wrong with his emotional core.  
An explosion happened next to him? Soundwave barely flinched. Megatron in a mood strolled toward him? Soundwave stayed unflappable. Starscream started shrieking right next to him and work himself in a rage? Soundwave didn’t rise to the bet, not like Megatron. They won a battle? Soundwave barely clapped before going back to work.

That… made no sense whatsoever.

“Pathetic,” Ravage growled, making them both jump and glare up at their sibling. The Cougar-Raider shaped Cassettes was lying on a shelf above them, head on his front paws and tail curled against his side, which was a pity. After a startle like that, the twins were of a mind to pull on it until he fell. Sadly, Ravage knew them too well to allow it to happen. “Are you truly both so unobservant? Or blind and deaf, perhaps?”

“Hey!” the twins yelped together, making Soundwave pay attention to them for the first time since they had entered the room.

“Query: problem?” he asked, and damn if he didn’t sound annoyed.

Ravage chuckled. “No problem at all, Soundwave. Just some light-sparked banter between siblings. No reason for you to get involved. Not when you have much better things to do. It’s almost time for your date, isn’t it?”

“DATE?!!!!!” Rumble and Frenzy yelled. “Who?!”

Soundwave ignored them entirely and frag, that was unfair! The Boss-bot on a date? Seriously? Why hadn’t he told them? They could have given him pointers!

::Yes, which is exactly why he didn’t tell you. Well, that, and you were out of the base,:: Ravage replied on an encrypted channel, as if he had read their thoughts (which he hadn’t; he just knew them very, very well, much to his despair).

::Frag you, Ravage!:: they replied back.

“Seriously, who, Boss?” Rumble asked, ready to jump at the taller ‘bot and hang on his leg to stop him from leaving. Ridiculous, certainly, but that was the thought which counted, right?

“Is he or she any good?” Frenzy asked at the same time. “Do we need to plan an intervention and beat them up if they don’t treat you right?”

“Soundwave: on a date with Chief Medical Officer Ratchet,” their Holder replied and they could practically hear the smile in his voice, the giddiness, the excitement!

“The old grumpy mech who throw a wrench like a pro?” They couldn’t have been more surprised if Soundwave had confessed he wanted to frag Primus himself. Of all the good looking mechs among the Decepticons or the Autobots (yeah, most of them were holier-than-thou fraggers, but you had to admit many of them had a nice face AND a nice aft to go with it), why did the Boss pick the old rusty one?

“Ratchet: not old!” Soundwave barked and the twins backed off. Wow, talk about a surprise.

“Sure Boss! He’s not old, Boss!”

“But he still got a mean throw with that wrench of his,” Frenzy added semi-helpfully. Which, actually, might be why Soundwave was interested. The Boss always liked strong mechs. Frenzy didn’t know if Ratchet was physically strong, but he could definitely call him strong-willed. Might be hitting some of Soundwave’s unknown kink buttons.

“Aaaaand you should totally be going,” Rumble added quickly, noting the way Soundwave’s visor flashed and how displeasure was starting to leak into his EM. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from your very important date. It’s uh, the how many already?” he finished lamely.

“Date: first,” Soundwave admitted and suddenly he looked less angry or excited but a whole lot nervous.

“First date! Nice, nice, very cool,” Frenzy babbled. “Do we expect you back for curfew or…?”

“Soundwave doesn’t have to worry about a curfew, unlike some mechs I won’t name,” Ravage chuckled. “Calm down, Soundwave. Everything will be fine.”

Unsaid went the fact that if things didn’t go fine, then there would be six very pissed Cassettes gunning after the Autobot medic’s aft. Soundwave knew it, because his last words before leaving were: “Retaliation: strictly forbidden!”

Left alone, the humanoid Cassettes looked at Ravage dubiously. “So… how long has this been going on?” Rumble asked casually.

“You’ll have to be more precise,” Ravage purred. “Are you asking about the Dioptase-Doe optics whenever he looked at the medic? The self-service while loudly calling for the medic’s name?”

“Ewww!”

“What? He does – has been doing that for orns,” the Cougar-Raider rose and stretched. “Not sure how it’ll evolve, but Soundwave got it bad. It’s really cute, the way he got all flustered and excited just to go drink a cube of energon and watch a movie with the medic.”

“What? That’s it? That’s what the date is going to be about?” Frenzy asked in disbelief.

“Well, there might be some heavy petting involved, but basically, that’s the idea. What, you want them to jump each other already and frag senseless on the nearest flat surface?”

The twins both gagged. “Ugh! No!”

“Brain bleach! Brain bleach!”

“Please, spare me the theatrics,” Ravage snorted.

“Seriously, that doesn’t bother you, Soundwave shacking up with an Autobot?”

“There are worst sorts to hang out with,” Ravage said simply. “At least the medic is a gentlemech; not the type to use and dump. Plus, unlike a few mechs I know, he won’t get Soundwave an Interface Transmissible Disease.”

“… if that’s how high we place the bar when it comes to the Boss’ potential mechfriends, then his love life must really be a disaster,” Rumble mused, letting himself fall on his aft with a ‘thump’.

“Not his love life, more like the company we keep,” Frenzy corrected his brother. He was frowning, looking vaguely worried. “You don’t think we should, I dunno, check on them? Make sure the medic is really good for Soundwave or something?”

“No, you won’t,” Ravage said calmly. “One, because Soundwave was really looking forward this evening and he won’t take well to intruders. Two, because you’d get caught the moment you start giggling or growl if you see something you like or don’t like. Three, because if you ruin his first date in Megacycles, I’ll personally kill you.”

“And four?” Rumble asked.

“Four, Laserbeak is already chaperoning and keeping an optic from the vents, so you don’t need to get involved at all,” Ravage smirked. “What?” he added at their look, sniggering. “I’m all for Soundwave to enjoy his date and I’m SURE Ratchet will be good for him on the short and long term. Doesn’t mean I trust the two of them not to frag things up on their first night. Mechs in love can be pretty stupid.”

“Yeesss,” Frenzy drawled. “Especially when they stood on opposite factions of a war for so many vorns they lost the count.”

“Especially when,” Ravage nodded seriously. “Oh, don’t take me wrong; they’re both smart mechs, they don’t exactly care for faction lines. But others… might not be so accommodating. And they’ll be so busy staring at each other and calling each other pet names they won’t even see it.”

The twins exchanged a look. Yeah, yeah, they could see it. “So… does that mean we’re going to be protection detail, or did you set Buzzsaw and Ratbat on the job?”

Ravage chuckled. “Well, of course I did; who do you take me for? But they’ll certainly appreciate some back-up; interested?”

Twin smirks answered him. “You bet.”

“Good. Then Operation: Protect Soundwave’s Date is now officially underway. Good luck, gentlemechs, you may need it.”


	8. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter that is so loose in the timeline that I could have put it about, well, anywhere. In the end, though I thought it'd fit nicely along the line of the first (or second) date. ^^

It had been an impulse. A sudden, stupid impulse. But the moment Soundwave had recognized the first beats of the song, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He loved that tune, and it had been forever since he had had a chance to indulge. He loved dancing, frag it! As Megatron’s trustworthy Second, he had had to carefully cultivate his image in order to instill fear and respect into the troops. He had worked hard to achieve his goal, squashing down hard on anything that could appear as a weakness and be used against him: friends, hobbies…

It had worked for so long…

And now, all his reputation was probably lying in pieces thank to a stupid music piece, and Soundwave found he didn’t especially care.

He was too busy turning and twisting his body on the rhythm of the music, feet pounding the floor, knees flexing, fists hitting the air, hips trusting forward, indulging himself and his frame in ways he had almost forgot and Primus, it felt wonderful…

And suddenly he wasn’t alone on the dance floor anymore.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance,” Ratchet giggled as he started to imitate him, copying his moves as best as he could – and he did it well, Soundwave noted. A pair of Seekers Soundwave was unfamiliar with had also decided to join them, with a little less grace but a lot more enthusiasm.

“Soundwave: full of surprises,” the telepath replied with as much dignity as he could. “Ratchet: good dancer too.”

“Baby, I didn’t earn the nickname ‘Party Ambulance’ during my student years just for my ability to chuck down high grade by the barrel,” Ratchet laughed, trusting his hips forward white raising his arms high above his head, then lowering them to cross them before him while he wiggled his hips, legs glued to each other. Despite being ‘old’, he certainly had good joints. A lot of mechs were staring, obviously overwhelmed by the sight of the expressionless telepath and the old-as-rust medic dancing without a care, but many more were getting into the fun; dancers flooded the floor while others hooted in delight and threw encouragements and compliments at them.

“Let’s rock this place!” Ratchet winked at the telepath.

His fearsome reputation was probably dead and buried, Soundwave mused briefly.

Time to build up a new one, then, the telepath grinned to himself as he launched himself in a new choreography, Ratchet following suit with a laugh that warmed his Spark.


	9. Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave and Ratchet take things farther!

“You’re sure?’ Ratchet murmured breathlessly against his audio receptor, and Soundwave gave a shaky nod.

“Sure,” he said, hands shifting to grab Ratchet’s shoulders as he was gently pushed down to lie on the berth. Soundwave: want you.” His back ached as deft fingers dug into a seam and tugged just right at a bundle of wire. “Uuuuh!!!!”

“My, someone is sensitive,” the medic chuckled to himself as he tugged again, eliciting yet another noise from Soundwave. For someone so quiet in public, he was very noisy in private – and they were just going through the foreplay yet! How it would get once they went down to interfacing proper, Ratchet had no idea, but he was most eager to find out.

The eagerness, however, was starting to get tempered by self-consciousness and the sneaky feeling that Soundwave’s high sensitivity may have been _too much_.

“Soundwave? Do you mind answering a question for me?” The questioning humming he received in return was enough to prompt him. “When was the last time you interfaced with someone?”

Soundwave stilled. Ratchet gently pressed his hands on either side of his helm and bended down to kiss him on the lips to reassure him. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer,” he said quietly. “You don’t own me anything.”

“Query: why ask then?” the telepath asked, optics searching his face.

“Because I care about making the whole experience we’re having tonight good for you,” the medic said patiently, “and I want to make sure how much you can handle and how far I can push without hurting you.”

“Soundwave: can handle anything,” the blue mech frowned, lips in pout that Ratchet found adorable.

“Oh, a big sturdy mech like you? I’m sure you can,” he said easily. “I’m certain I could, oh, throw you over my shoulder and carry you to part unknown then pin you down and frag you senseless. Or perhaps I could lift you up against the wall and take you there, entirely off the ground, relying on me not to drop you as I frag you _hard_ ,” he purred, and he smirked when he felt Soundwave minutely shake with arousal under him, his EM field buzzing and betraying how much of a turn on one or both idea were to him. One of his hands trailed down the telepath’s frame and came to lie over Soundwave’s pelvic armor, gently pressing. “But maybe it’s a bit extreme for a first time, since we don’t know our limits and all that stuff. Perhaps I should just make you love slow and steady, like I would to a virgin mech, taking my sweet, sweet time to prepare you, making you climax a few times before I even try to _enter you_ …”

Soundwave’s vocalizer crackled. Ratchet’s smirk widened. “Oh, you’d love that too, wouldn’t you?”

Soundwave took a moment to answer, his vocalizer backfiring twice before he managed to speak normally. “Statement: so long Soundwave get your spike, Soundwave: doesn’t care on specifics.”

“But I do,” Ratchet stressed out, voice level. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you because I rushed things out when you’re not _physically_ ready for it.” He rolled on the side, lying besides Soundwave, one hand holding his chin to make him look at him. “One thing I learned as a medic is that, past a certain point without ‘stimulation’, some systems tend to grow incredibly sensitive to stimuli, sometimes to the point of pain. No, I’m not necessarily speaking about valve stretching, though I’m sure some additional lubricant wouldn’t be amiss.” He waved toward the nightstand besides the berth, where he always stored a bottle for his ‘private’ time. “I’m talking about touch, about energy repartition, about overload and discharges through neuronal pathways,…” he listed off.

“Ratchet: really care about comfort,” Soundwave hummed.

“Professional deformation,” Ratchet said wryly. “’Healer, do no harm’ and all that rust, right? Yes, yes, I know it’s ironical, given how many people I actually shot at,” he added as Soundwave opened his mouth.

“Soundwave: was not going to comment on that,” the telepath replied just as wryly. “Soundwave: finds it cute. Previous lovers…” he paused, unsure how to formulate his thoughts in words. Soundwave never had bad lovers, per say (though once or twice, one-night-stands who had read too much into the situation or had gotten too possessive and aggressive when said ‘no’ had to be chased out by angry Cassettes). But he couldn’t remember anyone being so overly concerned about his comfort, and that included the mech he had lost his seals with.

He gave a frustrated huff, Ratchet just patting his hand without a word, but his optics had a knowing light to them, as if **he** was the telepath here.

“It’s alright. You mind if we’re going slow tonight? Or…” the medic hesitated before letting go of Soundwave’s chin to tug at a panel in his wrist, letting out a cable and a jack. Soundwave blinked, taken aback. “You’d mind linking up? So we know exactly how we both feel through that?”

That was… that was unexpected to say the least, leaving Soundwave floundering. Jacking up into each other was considered by some as a ‘soft’ form of interfacing, with usually no private bits involved. In truth, it was mostly used for medical purposes or checkups and systems syncs between team members and relatives. The Constructions regularly ‘plugged’ into each other (which may have been a decisive factor in theirs and Devastator’s relative stability in comparison to Bruticus or Menasor, whose members certainly _didn’t_. Granted, no same person should or would ever do it with Vortex, and Motormaster’s issues with his teammates didn’t make for a healthy sharing). Soundwave himself tended to plug in his Cassettes for comfort and reassurances after they left surgeries or when they came back from a mission.

He… didn’t usually do it with other mechs, though.

Regular plugging allowed to share energy, sensations, even emotions when properly linked. Many a romance novel featured lovers doing it while also practicing standard interfacing. It was, apparently, ‘very sweet’ and a ‘proof of love and acceptance’, an ‘incredible experience that make you feel as one, without sharing Spark’. Nonsense, of course, but…

He was curious. Soundwave wasn’t a prude and had tested many form of interfacing, but not that one.

Wordlessly, Soundwave found himself nodding at Ratchet’s suggestion, opening his own wrist panel, jack and cable and port ready for use. The medic smiled at him as he offered him his own jack.

“Let me show you how much I care,” he murmured, lining Soundwave’s jack with his port. “And make your night magical.”


	10. Well-Shagged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Seekers notice that a certain telepath isn't acting like usual... Or walking like usual, to be precise.

“Wow, is it me or is Creepy Monotonous, First of his name, walking bow-legged this morning?”

Trust Skywarp to put both his feet in the energon cube and stomp around, Thundercracker mentally sighed as he too watched Soundwave enter the Rec Room. On the other end, he couldn’t blame his purple and black teammate for his ‘astute’ observation because it was true.

Thundercracker never talked much, preferring to silently observe and contemplate before opening his mouth – an attitude that had always served him well in the past, even more so since he had become part of a trine with Skywarp, who seemed to be missing a few key communications channels between his CPU and his mouth, and with Starscream, who either took his kicks out of being treacherous or had no self-preservation protocols (the jury was still out on which one was the correct answer. A mix of the two was more likely).

Observing was how he noticed before everyone else that things were amiss – or when Skywarp was waiting for a time-delayed prank to spring or when Starscream had unleashed another dubious scheme to get rid of Megatron, leaving him with enough time to get out of the blast zone. Thundercracker observed everyone, from Reflector and its components to Breakdown (and yes, he knew it wasn’t helping the other mech’s paranoia) and all the command team. He tended to stay away from Soundwave, though, and not just because of the TIC’s telepathy.

Thundercracker was tempted to say he honestly admired Soundwave. While the Cassette Holder was too blocky for his taste and was, sadly, not a Seeker or a distant flyer kind, Thundercracker readily admitted the other mech possessed a, a presence, a grace and a poise that few mechs among the Decepticons owned. He was efficient, loyal, trustworthy (for a certain definition of the word, and as much as someone who wasn’t a flyer was trustworthy), enduring and smart.

Which was why seeing Soundwave, untouchable, perfect Soundwave, drag himself slowly through the room as if he had something lodged through his backside, made the blue Seeker raise both orbital ridges in surprise. It was so out of character he wondered briefly if his drink had been tampered with. But if Skywarp was seeing the same thing, then probably not.

“Someone must have had an interesting night,” Starscream commented idly, eyeing the thorn in his side that was the Communication expert with a smirk.

“Quite,” Thundercracker nodded briefly, mind racing as he tried to figure out just **who** had reduced normally ramrod-straight Soundwave to… _that_. Several names flashed through his CPU, which he discarded just as quickly as they appeared. None of them sounded right – and anyway, if Soundwave had to get fragged by another Decepticon, it would have happened a long time ago.

Which left… an Autobot.

Thundercracker briefly made a face. Alliance or not, there were some things he refused to contemplate. Still, it’d made sense. It was the only thing which did. Ugh. Probably Jazz, the blue Seeker decided. Jazz was the handsy and persistent type and it was easy to picture him hopping into a ‘Con’s berth for fun. Or perhaps Prowl; the mech had as much personality as a rock as far as Thundercracker was concerned, but Soundwave didn’t show much more emotions most of the time, so the two of them might decide to become an item just for the ‘fun’ of it.

If it was Prowl, though, Soundwave risked to have a lot of concurrence, because the rumor mill (and Thundercracker’s own overheard conversations) were leading him to believe six other mechs were mooning after Prime’s SIC – six mechs who formed one, and the one they formed wasn’t sharing.

Meh. Just what they needed. More drama.

Skywarp’s optic ridges furrowed. “Interesting how?”

Thundercracker let out a strangled giggle. “What, you don’t get it?” That was a first; Skywarp was literally the most dirty-minded member of their trine! But then again, it was Soundwave they were talking about; Skywarp’s CPU might actually be rebelling at the idea **Soundwave** of all mechs could have a libido or an interface life.

“No?” Skywarp stared blankly. Starscream snorted, then made a few gestures with his hands. Skywarp stared some more, frowning in concentration only to startle when a noise of broken glass made them all jump.

Besides the energon dispensary, Soundwave was bending down to pick up the shards of a cube he had apparently dropped. It gave the three Seekers a very good view of his aft and thighs as he did so – his aft and thighs and the small but unmistakable scruff marks in the otherwise perfectly spotless paintjob. Obviously, Soundwave had missed some when he had buffed himself before going out of his habsuite, Thundercracker smirked.

My, how the mighty had fallen.

The three Seekers exchanged knowing looks over their respective cubes – or at least, Starscream and Thundercracker exchanged knowing looks while Skywarp blinked stupidly at them, his CPU taking a moment to catch up. Thundercracker could practically pinpoint the moment it tilted in his trinemate’s mind.

“Seriously?” he shrieked loudly before both Starscream and Thundercracker pinned a hand to his mouth to silence him.

Too late; Soundwave’s visor had turned their way. Thundercracker stayed impassive under that red band’s scrutiny though he admitted his Spark jumpstarted a little when, after a moment of contemplation, Soundwave decided to make his way to their table and let himself drop unceremoniously into the vacant seat by Skywarp’s, a full cube nursed in his hands.

Oookay. Right. That was weird, Thundercracker thought as he exchanged a glance with Starscream. Normally, Soundwave never cared much for company while refueling, unless you were Megatron or his Cassettes. To come to them in spontaneity? Something was off.

Or he was far more well-shagged than Thundercracker had first thought.

“Soooo, uh, ‘hi’ Soundwave?” Skywarp tried, waving a bit and looking nonplussed, observing the Cassette Holder as if he had never seen him before.

“Hi,” Soundwave returned, making them all blink. That… wasn’t the usual monotonous tone they knew. Starscream’s optics narrowed before he put on an easy smile which, Thundercracker knew from experience, never brought anything good.

“Why, hello Soundwave. You seem particularly… cheerful this morning. Did you have a… good… night? Didn’t… sleep… on something too… hard?” The trine leader purred.

Thundercracker shuttered his optics briefly. Of all the… “Yes, those Autobot berths are frankly uncomfortable,” he interjected quickly, getting glared at by Starscream for his reward, but frag if he cared. Soundwave may had temporarily lost his CPU (perhaps), but that wouldn’t last and if Starscream teased him too much… “So hard and unyielding…”

And now he wanted to slap himself because he hadn’t wanted to say THAT!

“Who was it?” Skywarp said bluntly, foregoing any word play. “Please, please, please, tell us! Because someone who can make you walk as if you have a broom stuck in your exhaust pipe after a single night should get praised!”

And Skywarp once again showed proof that he had no tact at all, check, Thundercracker mentally sighed. Good bye, my trine member, you will be missed and your memory honored in glorious songs (though they will omit your cause of death as: ‘asked a terrifying mech who he had gotten fragged by when it was none of his business’).

Thankfully for Skywarp, a miracle happened.

Primus didn’t shine His Light on him, no, but it was the next best thing.

Soundwave… just let his facemask snap open and started sipping on his cube, looking like the Photovoltaic Pussycat who had gotten the Crystal-Canary. Frag, but he had nice lips, Thundercracker thought, stunned.

“Soundwave: already delivered praises,” the mech said while they all stared at him – and not just the trine, but also every single mech into hearing shot, Autobots and Decepticons alike. Thundercracker was certain he had heard the clicking of a camera and he made a note to track down Reflector later. He wanted a picture of this smile for himself.

“Oh wow,” Skywarp muttered. “So… was he any good?” he asked, edging closer to Soundwave with open curiosity, despite Starscream’s hiss of warning. “How many times did you do it? Can I do him too?”

“Skywarp…” Starscream facepalmed while Soundwave’s smile took an… an edge that made Thundercracker’s wings stood at attention.

“Soundwave: do not share,” he warned out, poking at Skywarp’s chest sharply.

It was going to end up badly, Thundercracker decided, already rising half out of his seat to try and save his idiot friend.

That was the moment Primus decided to send in a second miracle (and won quite a few hardcore new believers, because that timing? That was the stuff of legends).  
“Ah, Soundwave!”

The Cassette Holder stilled utterly while everyone watched Optimus Prime’s CMO stroll into the room. Truthfully, Thundercracker had never paid Ratchet much attention, at least until after the stunt in which the medic had basically held their entire faction hostage in order to make checkups. He was a grounder and he was… past his prime, to put it delicately. He was also, as wary mechs knew, a vicious shot with a gun or anything he could throw at you and an excellent medic (and he had a damn strong flying kick too; Thundercracker had ached for weeks after that hit), albeit a badly tempered one whose berthside manners sucked when he was unhappy.

Of course, better a qualified mech looking at you and your systems than a bunch of engineers and constructions ‘bots turned medics through wartime experience. If that Anti-Quintesson alliance had any perks, then it was having Ratchet and his apprentices get a look at them and repair them in half the time (and half less the sufferings) than the Constructicons. Grumpy though he was, Thundercracker readily admitted the medic was one of his ‘favorites’ Autobots.

And he wasn’t the only one to think so, apparently.

“Ratchet,” Soundwave greeted, turning away from Skywarp and completely forgetting about the black and purple Seeker, smiling brightly at the medic. “Query: you need something?”

The medic stopped at their table and bent forward, dropping a wrapped bundle in the Cassette Holder’s laps. “You forgot that in my habsuite,” he explained briefly. “I’m afraid I’ll have a busy shift today so I may not be free to refuel with you around break time, but if you are free tonight…?” he trailed off, an optic ridge raised.

“Suggestion: my habsuite tonight?” Soundwave suggested. “Cassettes: all out.”

“Tempting,” Ratchet hummed. “I’ll confirm the moment I’m sure a bright ‘genius’ isn’t going to lead me through a seven hours long surgery. If that’s alright with you, I mean?”

“Soundwave: fully aware a medic’s schedule: subject to change. Soundwave: will be waiting for you either way,” the blue mech assured him.

Ratchet smiled. “Good, good.” Then, without warning, he leaned forward and proceeded to give a long, languorous kiss to the redoubtable Decepticon’s TIC.

Thundercracker’s optics widened. Starscream’s jaw dropped open. He heard several gasps of shock and perhaps a few scattered cheers (Autobots were the culprits, he was certain of that) a few cubes crashing to the floor, perhaps also a mech falling out of his seat – not that Thundercracker blamed him.

It seemed like an eternity before the medic broke the kiss – kiss that Soundwave had been returning just as eagerly, Thundercracker noted – with a look of regret. “Well, time to go. See you later, lover,” he waved over his shoulder as he strode out of the room, seemingly unconcerned by the waves of shocked mechs he left in his wake.

“Well, frag,” Skywarp let out, breaking the charm and shaking everyone out of their stupor. “So… the medic?” he asked curiously, wings fluttering.

Soundwave’s smile had turned goofy (Primus, it was scary). “Ratchet: Superior,” he confided in all seriousness. “Ratchet: skilled. Very experienced. Very… enduring and unyielding,” he purred, chin in his hands.

“Is it because he’s old?” Skywarp asked again, looking very put-out but also… thoughtful. And not thoughtful in a good way, Thundercracker realized with alarm. “I never had an old mech before. You think I’d like that?”

Soundwave just gave a non-committal shrug and stayed silent. Basically, he meant ‘Who you take to berth is none of my concern, but come anywhere near MY medic and I’ll kill you messily in your sleep and have my Cassettes tear into your remains to make them disappear’. It was a very complicated message to express into a single shrug, but Thundercracker (and Starscream, judging by the way he sat straighter) had gotten it very clearly.

Skywarp turned to his teammates, optics serious. “Alright, can you guys tell me where I can find an old Autobot to frag? ‘Cause if one of them can give it to Soundwave so good he can’t walk or sit straight, then I definitely want some!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case you wonder, Skywarp is going to hunt down and proposition Kup -- oldest Autobot around and ever, surely he knows all the tricks? :p  
> (yes, he does, and of course he's going to tap that youthful aft)


	11. Greedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is HIS. (Though one could also argue he is Soundwave's, too)

“Mine,” Ratchet growled, pouncing on Soundwave the moment the door closed behind them.

If Soundwave was startled, he didn’t show it. Instead, he readily let himself be manhandled, catching Ratchet’s shoulders to steady himself and keening softly as deft hands started to roam over his frame, pressing against the other mech even as he was slowly pushed back toward the berth room.

“Mine,” Ratchet repeated, one hand over Soundwave’s buttons, just shy of pressing them. His hand moved slowly upward, caressing Soundwave’s torso and making the Cassette Holder shudder briefly. A finger traced the curve of Soundwave’s throat, slowly progressing toward his chin before giving a tap. Soundwave’s facemask snapped open comically fast, allowing the finger to rest upon his lips before Ratchet leaned forward to kiss him.

Soundwave parted his lips, glossa picking out and meeting Ratchet’s. His back was pressed against the wall, one of Ratchet’s knee pressed between his thighs and he had to fight down the urge to just hump it. Frag, his core temperature was already rising fast.

“Mine,” Ratchet repeated after he broke the kiss, optics almost white. His lips were then pressed against the corner of Soundwave’s visor. “Mine,” he repeated. The visor slide apart as well, completely revealing Soundwave’s flustered face. “Beautiful,” the medic purred.

“Ratchet…”

“Hush,” the medic chided him, tapping him on the nose. “Berthroom? Couch?” he asked, taking a step back so he wasn’t crowding his lover anymore.

“Berth,” Soundwave let out before giving a brief squeal as he was lifted and carried bridal-style toward said berth. His vents worked harder. Frag, it was still as much a turn-on as it had been the very first time, he thought. Strong mechs always got him revved, but now it was starting to get ridiculous! Or perhaps not, he amended as Ratchet deposited him carefully on the berth before rolling over him and repeating his ministrations. Rarely had he been the target of such fierce demonstrations of affection, and he was finding he didn’t mind them.

Ratchet was strong and steady, never hesitating to take the lead in their coupling while still bowing down to Soundwave when the Cassette Holder decided to turn the tables on him. He listened to him and never seemed to fear Soundwave could be influencing his actions (“Please, give me a break, Soundwave. I do happen to have studied telepathy and what a mech can and can’t do with it to a fellow mechanism. Though if you want to send a few suggestions my way about what you want in the berth, my mind is certainly open.”). He also never hesitated to show Soundwave open affection where other mechs could see them, which was something of a novelty for Megatron’s Second.

And he was insatiable too, Soundwave thought with a giggle as Ratchet’s lips reached and tickled a very sensitive spot on his armor. You’d think he’d never have enough of Soundwave the way he was acting sometimes. For a mech purportedly so old, it was hilarious (and also touching, because the medic must have had far many partners than Soundwave’s ever had, so to be treated like he was something special, despite his past experience with lovers…)

“You’re thinking too much,” Ratchet murmured, lips brushed against Soundwave’s cheek.

“My excuses,” Soundwave murmured back, spinal struck arching as Ratchet started nibbling on his neck cables. “Tease,” he accused.

“Not teasing, just making my territory,” the medic replied easily. And people wondered where the Dinobots had picked it from…

“Mine,” Ratchet said again, kissing Soundwave’s throat. “Mine.” It was a litany he repeated endlessly between kisses everywhere on Soundwave’s frame. Soundwave’s lips were his, Soundwave’s throat, Soundwave’s shoulders, Soundwave’s hands, Soundwave’s fingers, Soundwave’s pelvis…

“Yours,” Soundwave confirmed as Ratchet alternating caressed and kissed his codpiece, letting the cover slide asides. The medic cooed in triumph before bending down and letting his lips and glossa slide all over Soundwave’s exposed valve and spike cover, making the Cassette Holder keen and whimper in extase. Frag, so good.

“All mine,” Ratchet licked his lips, chasing away a drop of lubricant. His own panel had snapped open as well, spike peeking out and brushing against the inside of Soundwave’s thigh. Soundwave didn’t need his telepathy to know the medic was very eager to pin him down and take him, mark him, greedily make him his again and again until they both dropped from exhaustion.

The very thought almost sent Soundwave over the edge already.

“Yours,” Soundwave repeated, hands clutching Ratchet’s shoulders as the medic positioned himself. He didn’t enter him, though, keeping his optics focused on Soundwave’s chest.

“Mine?” Ratchet asked softly, rapping a fist over it.

Soundwave shuddered. Should he? It was a step farther than a simple frag. But hadn’t he already pledged he was Ratchet, hadn’t they both been saying it to each other for orns already?

Ratchet’s own chestplates had already parted, exposing his Spark chamber. He was looking at Soundwave in wonder, his expression soft. He didn’t say ‘you can’t back down anytime’ or ‘you’re not forced to’ verbally, but Soundwave picked on the stray thoughts anyway. Ratchet never kept any type of shielding on during interfacing, allowing Soundwave to feel and read him at his leisure for cues and reassurance.

Ratchet was fully ready to give him an out if Soundwave didn’t feel like sharing Sparks, if he wanted to stop there, and he wouldn’t think less of Soundwave for refusing to pass that milestone. He’d be supportive and understanding and he would resume their lovemaking as if nothing had happened, just focusing on giving Soundwave pleasure, and it was that very realization that made Soundwave decides.

Panels folded and shifted asides, docking units moving to the side or being absorbed through subspace as his own Spark chamber moved forward and exposed itself, the red light of his Spark basking Ratchet’s face.

“All yours,” Soundwave confirmed with a raspy noise. “All mine,” he added as an afterthought, grabbing Ratchet’s arms, because he was Ratchet’s as much as Ratchet’s was his.

Always and forever, he vowed as the medic leaned down and they became one.


	12. Exploring

Autobots certainly had a different opinion of comfort than Decepticons – but then again, many of the initial members and officers of the faction had come from nobility or from the people already high in Cybertron’s political spheres. Those mechs had lived all their lives in a debauchery of luxury without a care for the rest of their Cybertronian brethren. And of course, corruption had run deep in their ranks as well.

Optimus Prime may have ‘cleaned house’ when he had obtained the title of Prime and took drastic measures, if you knew where to look, then you could find the ‘scars’ left by the various transformations undertaken on the new Prime’s orders.

Soundwave let a hand run over a wall, nodding to himself. His visor contained enough sensors that a single look let him know the alloy composing that peculiar one didn’t match that of the other walls. Obviously a partition put in place to cut in two – or perhaps in three, given the Ark’s sheer size – the room he was currently in, transforming an outrageously large living space into two separates, perfectly functional cabins.

Further proof could be found in the light fixations – you could still see a small hook near the wall, where Soundwave supposed a chandelier of some type must have hung once upon a time. And if you really looked at the appliqués on the walls, you could see they were evenly spaced, probably hiding away other, dismantled light systems. And unless he was missing his mark (and Soundwave was reasonably certain he wasn’t), the niche he had passed by earlier and which had been transformed into a set of shelves to hold pads and baubles must have once housed a gigantic aquarium.

That would have been a real waste of space on a war ship; honestly, what had the people in charge thought?

Oh, right. They hadn’t. If they had been sensible and intelligent, maybe there wouldn’t have been a war in the first place. Or perhaps there would have, who knew?

Soundwave made a few calculations in his mind. Even with the original space divided in two, the habsuite he was walking through remained large and comfortable enough for at least two mechs to live in.

“Optimus Prime: generous with his officers,” he said aloud.

He moved around slowly, continuing his exploration while patting the back of a small L-shaped couch installed in front of a private viewscreen. There was dust gathered on it, showing the room’s occupant didn’t watch it often.

“I don’t have much time,” the room’s normal occupant explained. “And when I do, I tend to go to public projections with everyone. Watching a movie alone isn’t that fun.”

“You: not alone anymore,” Soundwave hummed.

A box displaying the inscription ‘movie chips’ was placed on the bottom shelf of the niche, which extended nearly the whole length of the wall between the screen and the door. By curiosity, he lifted the lid and rummaged inside, looking at titles.

Knowing the owner, he was a bit surprised to see things such as ‘Creepozoids of the Crab Nebula’, ‘The Hatilex Casino Heist’ and ‘Return of Sharknator’. Either someone had worst tastes in movies than he thought… or someone had specifically gotten them because they knew _Soundwave’s Cassettes_ taste when it came to movies.

The second option was more likely.

More surprising was to find the infamous medical-themed series ‘General Practice’; surely, the owner couldn’t find it factual? But perhaps it made for a good laugh when you were a professional, he acknowledged mentally, closing the box. Soundwave run a hand through the other few possessions lined up; a couple of datapads, an Urayan Singing Bowl (how peculiar), a set of energy needles (leftover from an attempt to learn magneti-puncture, perhaps?), a holodisplay showing the Hydrax Plateau before the war, alternating with pictures of various Autobots and mechs Soundwave didn’t know,…

It left plenty of space for more things to be added.

Turning, he could see the desk and its terminal and the door to the berthroom. He walked over and peeked insides. The berth was as large as he had hoped, large enough for two mechs of average size and weight and a few tiny extras, with fluffy pillows lined up against the headboard. There wasn’t much decoration to speak off, but that could be corrected. Then there was the other, transparent door…

“Query: all officers among Autobots have private washracks?” he asked, surprised and a little envious.

“Not all,” his lover said behind him. “We took advantage of the already installed plumbing to put them in, but not all officers’ quarters have them. Prime does, Jazz,… And me. I got lucky, I guess. Or someone realized that the CMO using the communal washracks when he was covered in fluids might be damaging for morale.”

“That someone: Prowl?”

“More likely, it was Jazz, but Prowl probably approved,” Ratched shrugged helplessly. “Well, that’s it. You saw it all. My ‘lair’, as some people put it. Nothing too grand, but I find it comfortable. And now, I guess it’s your ‘lair’ too – if you want to, that’s it,” he hurriedly added. “Yours and your Cassettes, though I’m not sold on sharing a berth with them too.”

Soundwave stayed silent, optics wandering around a last time, taking in the pleasant shade of pale blue used to paint the walls of the berthroom, a color more soothing to the optics than the bright orange used in the corridors.

“So… how do you like?” Ratchet asked nervously.

Soundwave finally turned and smiled at him. Not too large, not too small, privacy, a lot of potential and Ratchet’s scent everywhere. What more could he ask for? “Our home: perfect.”


	13. Naive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is happy about Rachet and Soundwave's relationship...

Perhaps it had been naïve of him to believe that him hooking up with Soundwave would be accepted by everyone. But, in Ratchet’s defense, between the looming threat of the Quintessons and the few, tentative friendships and trysts that had already developed between other Autobots and Decepticons, the medic had thought he wouldn’t need to defend himself for his choices.  
Clearly, he had been wrong.

“Traitor, am I?” he asked softly as he eyed Cliffjumper. The red Minibot was shaking with fury – couldn’t be good for his systems, that.

Cliffjumper squared his shoulders. “You heard what I said.”

“Yeah, given I have finely tuned audio receptors, I couldn’t hardly not hear,” Ratchet dismissed. “Tell me, Cliffjumper. Is Red Alert a traitor for spending time with Breakdown and showing him how to operate a camera network? Is Kup a traitor for falling in berth with Skywarp? Is Sideswipe a traitor for going on a pranks spree with the same Skywarp? Is Grapple a traitor for working on architectural projects with the Constructicons? Is Bluestreak a traitor for chatting up guns in the corridors with Onslaught?”

“It’s different!” Cliffjumper snapped. And perhaps it was, Ratchet acknowledged.

Red Alert was only taking pity of a mech who was, well, a few steps away from a nervous breakdown by giving him a way to control his paranoia, something he was very familiar with. Kup and Skywarp was a one-night-stand type of thing, unless one of the two decided they wanted a repeat. Sideswipe and Skywarp was an accident in the making and everybody knew it. Plus, Sunstreaker had no love for Seekers and Thundercracker and Starscream were dismissive of ‘grounders’, so it was likely Sideswipe and Skywarp’s partnership would only evolve in a fire-forged friendship everyone else would curse and swear was a match made by Unicron. Grapple was working with the Constructions because it was his job, and there were some sour feelings left from previous backstabbing. As for Bluestreak… well, it was a bit more nebulous why he had approached Onslaught of all mechs, but the two seemed to have developed a sort-of friendship. That happened when you spent time shooting at the same target.

Basically, others developed friendships or work relationships based on common interests and jobs. While Ratchet, him…

“You’re fragging Soundwave!”

“I do,” Ratchet confirmed, tensing. “And Jazz wormed his way into Octane’s berth.”

“It’s Jazz,” Cliffjumper dismissed. “He worms his way into everyone’s berth eventually, and he never stays in it for long. He doesn’t do long term commitment.”

Point, Ratchet silently agreed.

“You, on the other hand, you willingly shacked up with a Decepticon for long term!”

“And you got a problem with it?” Ratchet snapped back.

“You bet I do!” Cliffjumper screeched. “You…! What’s to stop you from giving him all our personal informations?!”

“I’m a medic!” Ratchet snarled, offended. “I’d never…!”

“Words,” Clliffjumper spat. He looked crossly at Ratchet before blurting out. “I want to transfer my medical files and main care to Hoist.”

Ratchet’s vents stalled. “What?” he asked flatly. Suddenly, he felt as if someone had punched him in the fuel tank. Sure, he often had words with his fellow Autobots and sure, sometimes it had gotten ugly… but no one before had ever asked Ratchet to transfer their care to someone else. For all the arguments and the hard feelings, no one had ever doubted Ratchet would do his best to keep them alive and healthy.

For Cliffjumper to ask such a thing…

It was worse than an insult. It felt like a betrayal. And it hurt. It hurt a lot.

“You heard me,” Cliffjumper groused, arms crossed over his chest. “You may be a great medic, but I don’t think I can trust you anymore, Ratchet. If I have to put my Spark into someone’s hands, I’d rather it’d be in someone who won’t offline me on the operating table to please the guy he’s spreading his legs for.”

A wrench flew. Ratchet couldn’t even remember throwing it, though he heard Cliffjumper’s howl a bunch of invectives. He had probably shouted back, too, the medic thought, because his throat tubing felt raw and his vocalizer scratchy. Of course he must have. Ratchet never kept his glossa in his subspace pocket, after all.

Security had had to intervene. Drag them apart. Take them both to cool their heels and tempers in the brig. Optimus Prime had given him his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look, but at least he hadn’t commented on what had caused the argument – and if Ratchet was right, he probably had had some words with Cliffjumper. Optimus was a sap who was hoping their species could heal through this alliance. A genuine relationship blooming between one of his oldest (ah!) friends and Megatron’s Second was probably giving him hopes for the future.

But for all his hopes, Optimus couldn’t change Cliffjumper’s mind. At the end of the day, once they were released from the brig, Ratchet had one ‘official’ patient less. He’d probably treat Cliffjumper again, because medical staff was medical staff in an emergency, but his primary care and all in-depth medical decisions concerning the red Minibot were now Hoist’s responsibility.

Was Cliffjumper only the first of a long series, Ratchet thought miserably?

“Ratchet?”

He looked up to see Soundwave in the Medbay’s doorway, watching him. It was hard to judge what he felt with his mask and visor on, but Ratchet could feel a note of concern in his voice. Was he making a mistake, getting in a serious relationship with him, the medic asked himself? Wouldn’t it be wiser to cut things short and forget the potential they had together? Could he forget himself if he forbade the biggest chance at happiness he was having since the beginning of this slagging war?

No, he decided, rising from his chair to go hug Soundwave – and if he was holding him a little harder than usual, clinging to his lover’s frame like a lost Youngling, then Soundwave didn’t comment. He just hugged back, EM field buzzing with care and love.

Perhaps it had been naïve to think everybody would be fine with his newfound relationship and perhaps it was naïve to think that everything would be alright. But Ratchet wasn’t naïve to the point of not recognizing how much Soundwave loved him, and Ratchet loved him in turn.

It was worth it, he decided. It would always be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Cliffjumper gets the short end of the stick here, but when I tried to come up with someone unhappy about cross-faction relationships, it kinda stuck me as obvious.


	14. Bath-Time

“Ratchet: has unfair advantage,” Soundwave complained, fidgeting on the stool where he stood crouched and tense while the medic rubbed a sponge all over his back – when he wasn’t dipping it into seams, that’s it, or exchanging the sponge for small specialized brushes to remove the grim lodged in his joints.

“Do I?” the medic asked lightly, and Soundwave didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling smugly. Fragging tease, the telepath thought in both fondness and exasperation. “I don’t see why you’d think so. You did the same for me, remember?”

Well, yes, Soundwave had just given his partner a long, well-merited sponge bath which had left the medic clean and very relaxed before they switched and Ratchet decided to do him back – but he still maintained Ratchet had an unfair advantage over him.

“Ratchet’s knowledge of anatomy and sensitive spots: superior,” Soundwave argued, vents hitching when a small brush was pried _just_ in the seams between his shoulder and neck and started digging in. “Uuuuuh,” he whimpered. Frag, that felt good; he hadn’t realized how caked the underneath of the plating had started to become.

“Is it? I’m not so sure about it,” Ratchet replied. “Who just spent almost a whole half an hour working over every single joint in my fingers, hum?”

“Situation: not the same,” Soundwave argued. Everyone knew a medic’s hands were precious and needed to be well cared for – and everyone knew they were sensitive, due to being packed with sensors and in-built tools to help in surgery. Soundwave just hadn’t realized just **how** sensitive, which had turned into a mix of embarrassment, fun and smugness over the little noises Ratchet had kept making during the process – and the spontaneous overload it had led to (which had also led to more cleansing). The telepath took careful note of it for their next berthroom session.

In retrospect, he should have expected Ratchet to take his ‘revenge’ immediately, he mused as the sponge rinsed away more dirt. Thankfully at this hour, there weren’t many people in and most were already soaking in the tub, away from them.

“Sure it isn’t,” Ratchet chuckled. “People who think buttons are the only things that make you revved are idiots,” he purred, leaning against Soundwave’s back and kissing him in the neck. “Hold still, big boy; I’m almost done. Then we can both relax in that hot bath.”

“Soundwave: looking forward to it,” the telepath replied honestly.

In a way, he was almost grateful that Sideswipe and Skywarp’s pranks war had escalated so far; if it hadn’t, the traditional washracks wouldn’t have gotten damaged and Red Alert, Grapple and the Constructicons wouldn’t have used the renovations to cut and restrain the use of water and solvents on the base so long they were working. And if they hadn’t, then Prowl wouldn’t have proposed the alternate solution of using traditional Praxus-style (and partly Vosian-style) bathing for the duration.

Soundwave never had tested the process of scrubbing and cleaning himself first before going to soak into water and cleansers tubs, but he was starting to become a big fan. And not only because it gave Ratchet and him more opportunities to fool around.

“Query: would Prime accept making this room a permanent feature?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Ratchet gave a wry smile. “Well, if you add your name to the petition Tracks and Sunstreaker have started, maybe we got a chance. Last I heard, half the base had signed up already. Want to join in?”

Soundwave smirked. “Ratchet: really have to ask?”


	15. Disheveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Ratchet has friends looking out for him. So long looking is all they do, else he'll kill them himself!

“Oh dear; rough day, Love?” Ratchet asked, raising an optic ridge as Soundwave stumbled into view, looking utterly unlike himself.

Normally, Megatron’s SIC took great care of his appearance. Not by vanity, mind you, as he had confided Ratchet while deep in the after glove of one of their intense interfacing sessions, but because as an Officer, he felt it was his duty to show the right kind of example to the troops. As such, he made a point of always keeping clean, regularly polish his armor when he had the mean, and touch up whatever defaults he found. Every gesture he made were carefully thought and studied, from the way he stood at attention to the way he walked through the corridors. Even his vocalizer’s filters were chosen and modulated to enforce the image he wanted to give.

Such a level of care for his presentation strongly reminded Ratchet of Prowl – not that he planned to share this detail with his lover.

Anyway, Soundwave tried very hard to look outwardly perfect.

So seeing him walk him with obvious singed marks on his plating, minor dents along his arms and a slight limp in his step that made Ratchet’s medical scanners briefly flash up before he squashed them down with the understanding it was all minor stuff and _didn’t warrant an immediate intervention_ was a cause of shock.

Or rather, of curiosity, because Ratchet had the sneaky feeling he knew exactly why his new lover looked so, ah, ‘disheveled’ as the humans put it.

Soundwave looked in his direction, but Ratchet had the feeling the telepath’s optics weren’t really on him, that they were actually focused on nothing in particular. “Autobots: want me dead,” the blue mech finally said after a moment of silence.

Ratchet’s optic ridge rose higher. “Oh, I’m certain they do not. Not all of them, anyway,” he amended. “Blaster may not be your biggest fan, but I doubt he’d let you die and manage the whole communication hub all by himself. And Prowl and Ultra Magnus do like you, in their own way,” he added as an afterthought. Trust two mechs motivated by order to appreciate a dutiful, quiet mech like Soundwave.

“Ratchet’s friends: want me dead,” Soundwave corrected himself, walking over the couch and flopping down gracelessly, feet kicking over the edge as he buried his face in his arms.

“They don’t,” the medic said automatically. “They know I’d kill them myself if they’d got rid of you without my express consent.” Which, okay, might not have been the greatest joke to tell to his lover when he obviously had gone through a rough time, but he wanted to try and lighten the mood. Soundwave just groaned and Ratchet sighed, carefully sitting down on the arm of the couch and haphazardly patting the telepath’s shoulder.

“I take you were given the shovel talk, uh?” he asked in sympathy. He had had his own version himself with the Cassettes an orn or two ago. He gave them points for having bolts, but honestly, getting threatened by six pint-sized mechs was ludicrous more than anything. Megatron dropping a word about ‘consequences’ should he ‘play with an excellent soldier’s emotions’ was more worrisome, but Ratchet had still said to the mech where he could stuff his warning. Megatron’s face had been priceless.

But the Cassettes and Megatron asides, no one had put in a word for Soundwave’s sake to Ratchet. He felt relief at the thought, but also sadness. Soundwave didn’t cultivate many friendships and it felt.

Ratchet, on the other hand, had TOO MANY people looking out for him, and Soundwave had apparently learned it firsthand.

“No shovels were included,” Soundwave muttered morosely. “Smelter: mentioned instead.”

“Tell me?” he prompted gently, massing Soundwave’s shoulder.

A groan escaped his lover’s lips. “Autobot Wheeljack: should get his chemical set confiscated. Explosions: completely voluntary. Showing me all the acids he had to melt a body: frankly unnecessary too.”

“Naturally,” Ratchet nodded with a straight face. Wheeljack didn’t always made things explode on accidents – he was more than adept at blowing stuff on purpose and in a controlled setting. If he hadn’t been so needed in the Sciences division, Ratchet had the sneaky feeling Jazz would have poached him away for his own unit. “The Dinobots made the dents?”

“Dents by Dinobots: accidental,” Soundwave continued on the same morose tone. “Grimlock and Slag: don’t know their strength when throwing ball. Sludge and Swoop: amiable enough. Snarl: silent.”

“He’s not much of a talker,” Ratchet acknowledged. “So they didn’t threaten you?”

“Answer: oh yes. But threats: minimal. Encouragements given to take care of their ‘Mama’ instead,” the telepath replied and now he sounded more cheerful. Ratchet groaned, embarrassed by the nickname.

“I swear, each time I tell them I’m not… Oh, never mind, I’ll probably never get rid of that appellation. Thank a lot, Carly,” he sighed, thinking back about the time their human ally had explained the concept of parenthood to the Dinobots while she was expecting Daniel. He wasn’t sure how much the Dinobots had really understood, but soon he had become ‘Mama’ to the quintet. Personally, Ratchet thought they did it just to mess with him. “Anyone else I need to make things awkward for during their next checkup?” he asked instead.

Soundwave raised both hands and started counting on his finger. “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker: gave casual, underlying threats about dismantling. Ironhide: threatened to use me as target practice. Bluestreak: talked a lot in general; Soundwave: unsure if threat was given in the flow or not.”

“And who mentioned a smelter?” Ratchet asked curiously.

Soundwave gave a brief, harsh laugh. “Optimus Prime: really scary when he wants to be.”

Ratchet had to blink. “Optimus? Really?” That… was unexpected. Given how much time and care he had put into repairing the Twins or putting Bluestreak back together on a physical and emotional level after the fall of Praxus, he had half-expected them to be on the list. Same thing with Ironhide; like Wheeljack, ‘hide was one of his oldest friends. Optimus, however, was a genuine surprise. He was a friend too, of course, but… somehow, he had never expected Optimus to try and scare off people on his behalf.

It gave him a warm feeling inside his Spark. Better not tell Soundwave, though.

“My poor darling,” he cooed instead with many pats.

“Ratchet: has many caring friends,” Soundwave remarked, turning a little to lie on his side and look at Ratchet. He didn’t sound very annoyed, more like bemused and perhaps just a tad amused. The inconvenience of being taken asides and subtly or not so subtly threatened should he hurt Ratchet or his feelings asides, he seemed to take in stride the fact people acknowledged their relationship was serious enough to warrant such threats in the first place.

“That I do,” the medic agreed with a smile. “But I have only one love, and this love is you.”


	16. Playing With Kids

Soundwave emerged slowly from recharge, feeling like his CPU was wrapped in cotton. Everything his incredibly furnished sensors array (a perk and a downside of being a Communication specialist) reported to him seemed muffled and fuzzy. His optics were taking forever to reboot too, much to his annoyance, and a pounding headache was gathering between them, making him wince.

So much for the hope a nap would help making him feel better.

Primus, he hated being sick, he thought miserably as he turned and tossed, trying to find a good position to go back to recharge. Sadly, he was too rested already and sleep escaped him as his sensors tried to calibrate and put themselves back in order, with mitigated results.

Fragging Quintesson virus. If he managed to get his hands on the being who had created it… he swore silently to himself. Though what Soundwave could do would certainly pale to whatever **Ratchet** decided to unleash on the responsible. Soundwave was far from the first mech who had come down with the virus, and he would probably not be the last, but the medic’s patience had been tethering even before his lover had turned up sick.

The last time he had been fully coherent, Soundwave had heard Ratchet swear down bloody revenge in a mix of Primal vernacular, Neo-Cybex and back-alley speech idioms from the lower levels of Iacon in a tirade that had been shocking in its vulgarity, awesome in its creativity and beautiful in its phrasing. Soundwave was certain that, if Rumble and Frenzy had been present (which they might have been, he hadn’t been in any shape to be certain), they’d have taken notes and decided to elevate Ratchet to godhood for his glossa alone.

Wait.

Where were Rumble and Frenzy? Or Ravage, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, for that matter? Or even Ratbat?

They weren’t in his chest compartment; fuzzy or not, his systems were quite clear about his docking area being empty, and his Cassettes knew better than to come to come and recharge or rest in his chest while he was sick, less they’d get sick themselves. Ratchet wouldn’t have let them anyway, even if they had tried; the medic was acutely aware of all the problems a Cassette Holder could face, something which pleased and reassured Soundwave on many levels. He never had to pretend with the medic.

So, not in him… But usually, there was always one or two of his Cassettes lingering around and ‘keeping an optic on him’ whenever Soundwave was down. Their absence was weird and preoccupying.

Unless… His audios weren’t working quite to their usual level, but he could make out sounds beyond the door of his berthroom. Perhaps they had decided to let him rest and watch a movie together – while keeping the sound low to avoid bothering him? If so, it’d be thoughtful of them.

Too thoughtful.

When his Cassettes were thoughtful, they were usually up to no good.

The realization made him groan and sit back carefully, fighting to keep his gyroscope steady and not screw up his sense of equilibrium. He needed to check on them, right now. Shivering a bit, he wrapped the blanket he had formerly been hiding under around his shoulders and rose up, taking his time to move across the room and toward the door. Even so, he kept a hand on the wall and leaned on his, grateful to have something steady to keep himself from falling should his ankle joints lock up again. One time falling down in front of Megatron and Prime was enough for his dignity, he had no intention to repeat the experience even in private.

“Do you have any… two?” was the first thing he heard upon letting the door slide open.

“Nope. Go Fish, mechling.”

“Aww, slag it!”

Blinking, Soundwave took in the very unusual scene unfolding in the living area of his habsuite, feeling nonplussed.

There was Frenzy, and there was Rumble too, which wasn’t unusual. The two Cassettes spent almost all their free time together, unless they were having a spat. The TV was turned off, which was most unusual, for Rumble and Frenzy’s free time was usually spent watching human medias and poking fun at it, or playing some incredibly loud and violent games made by the same humans. Soundwave only let it slide because a) while they were gaming they weren’t getting themselves in trouble and b) since the goal was to kill humans more often than not, it was dubbed an acceptable pastime by other Decepticons defending their addiction to First Person Shooters to their superiors.

So… no TV, no gaming, no violence, no swearing.

Instead, his two humanoid Cassettes were sitting cross legged on the floor, each holding a bunch of cards and glaring at Ratchet, who sat across them with a smug grin on his face. Ravage had installed himself on the medic’s knee, rolled into a ball and looking at the medic’s cards with the same smug grin. Buzzsaw was perched on the medic’s left shoulder, while Laserbeak had elected to stand on a couch. Ratbat was apparently recharging head down, gripping fiercely to the lamp.

“You’re cheating!” Rumble accused, pointing a digit at Ratchet, who chortled.

“Sorry to disappoint you, mechling, but nope, I’m not.”

“Yes you are! How else could you have not lost a single game until now?” Frenzy insisted.

“Talent,” Ratchet replied levelly. “By the way, Frenzy, got any five?”

“Argh!” the smaller mech whined, throwing two cards in Ratchet’s direction. Ravage snatched them with a pawn, earning himself a pat before Ratchet took them then removed two other cards from his game and let the four in a neat pile in front of him. “I give up! I wanna play something else!”

“Yeah!” Rumble nodded emphatically.

“You’re the ones who decided you didn’t want to play poker anymore,” Ratchet reminded them.

“Only because you were cheating too!” Frenzy insisted.

Ratchet just threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you sweet summer Spark. You don’t need to cheat when you spent a hundred vorns going to Smokescreen’s weekly poker tournaments. It’s either learning to deal and lie with a smile or get yourself eaten alive in five kliks flat.”

“Is it part of Special Ops training?” Ravage asked curiously, tail beating the air.

Ratchet gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, I’d say no, but now you mention it, it’s true Jazz, Mirage and Bumblebee are regulars and that they tend to clean the table. I’ll give it a ‘perhaps’. And…” Ratchet raised his head and caught sight of Soundwave, leaning against the doorway in silence. His demeanor immediately changed. The carefree expression let place to a mid-thunderous, mid-worried look. “Soundwave, what are you doing up?”

“Boss! Finally awake?” Frenzy shouted, jumping to his feet and running to hug Soundwave’s leg.

“Do not!” Ratchet snapped, making him freeze in place. “You’ll make him fall if you run. You want to give him a hug, you walk and you’re being careful, got it?”

“… yes, Doc,” Frenzy replied weakly, making Soundwave blink. Well, that was new. Frenzy was not normally so obedient.

“Soundwave: missed something while unconscious?” he asked, and felt pride over the fact his voice didn’t waver.

“A lot,” Ratchet confirmed, gently pushing Ravage off his knee and giving a light shrug to indicate to Buzzsaw he should fly off too. The CryoCondor turned twice around the room, giving a thrill before settling himself next to Laserbeak. The other flyer was giving Soundwave the once-over herself, cawing in disapproval. Ratchet walked to Soundwave and gently steadied him, guiding him into the room and to the small sofa his Cassettes had ‘liberated’ (read: stolen) from somewhere else in the base in order to furnish the otherwise sparse quarters. “You shouldn’t have risen up just yet; I bet your equilibrium is still off,” Ratchet tutted as his integrated scanners washed all over Soundwave’s frame.

“They do,” the Cassette Holder confirmed meekly, snuggling into Ratchet’s side and hoping the medic wasn’t crossed with him. Apparently not, given the way he nodded and tucked the blanket so it covered more of Soundwave’s frame. “Soundwave: worried about being alone.”

“Told you he would,” Rumble blew a raspberry at Ratchet, who looked back at him levelly.

“That you did. And I still maintain he needed the rest; you’re going to go against the medic’s recommendations on this one, brat?” Rumble huffed but didn’t protest.

“Ratchet: has been here since long?” Soundwave asked, vaguely confused. His chronometer was still off, but he could have sworn the medic was supposed to be on shift right now. Seeing him in his quarters was a surprise.

“A whole megacycle,” Ratchet smiled briefly. “My crew mutinied and chased me out with orders to rest. So that’s what I’m doing. Resting, keeping an optic on my significant other and playing with the kids so they don’t go jump on his berth,” he listed off on his fingers, making Laserbeak and Buzzsaw shriek with laugher (which almost woke Ratbat) while Rumble and Frenzy energically protested they weren’t ‘kids’.

“I thought I was the house cat?” Ravage inquired politely, mirth not hidden.

“And a damn fine one,” Ratchet replied, imperturbable.

Soundwave felt his lips tug upward. “Ratchet: certainly know how to deal with Sparklings,” he acknowledged.

The medic gave a shrug. “Hey, what do you know? People pretend I got five overgrown kids of my own already. Speaking off and just to warn you, since I’m playing with your kids, it’s only fair you play with mine too once you’ll be healthy enough. They’ve been asking me a lot of questions about you,” he warned Soundwave with a wink.

Soundwave gave him a look. He knew Ratchet was joking, but still… “Ratchet: cruel. Dinobots: hardly as easy to play with as Cassettes.”

Ratchet smirked. “That’s what you think, Darling. That’s what you think…”


	17. Kickass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the battlefield. Soundwave is injured, and Ratchet is Not Happy.

If there was one thing Soundwave cordially hated about Sharkticons, it was their ability to just fly under his telepathic radar. Normally, unless they knew how to properly shield their CPU through specific upgrades or through careful manipulations of their own EM field, all Cybertronian subgroups had a ‘presence’ Soundwave could pick on.

Oh, it wasn’t a perfect system, nor was it always pinpoint accurate. If it had been, Soundwave would have rooted out Autobot’s Intelligence operatives hiding in the Decepticon ranks more often; the troops trained by Jazz were just too smart to fall for Soundwave’s scans.

In the case of the Sharkticons, however, Soundwave was more inclined to think his inability to feel them was because they were just too dumb for his sensors to perceive.

Snarling, he dived under a fallen metal beam and rolled, narrowly avoiding the Sharkticon who had had thrown himself at him. Caught by his momentum, the hulking beast just hit the beam straight on, kneeling over from the pain. Soundwave wasted no time in shooting him point-blank between the optics, feeling a dark satisfaction over seeing his enemy fall down, back of his helmet half-gone already turning grey.

Slagging bastard had almost taken his hand off!

His Cassettes kept pinging him and sending him message bursts despite the jamming put in place by the Quintessons, scattered as they were over the battlefield. He knew Ravage was following Megatron in the shadows and taking down any who’s try to attack his leader in the back. Rumble and Frenzy were running messages between groups, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak were flying and diving around to give localizations of enemy or friendly troops, and Ratbat was watching over the medical contingent, relaying their needs as well as he could despite the jam.

Annoying thing, Soundwave thought with distaste as he took aim and shot at another Sharkticon, nailing him between his shoulder struts. The buzzing was starting to give him a headache. Jazz had disappeared, promising he was working on it, and Soundwave was confident the black and white (former) thorn in his side would keep to his words, possibly with a few fiery explosions involved. Soundwave couldn’t wait.

The attack took him by surprise.

One moment he was taking aim again and the next, he was rolling on the floor with an unwelcome weight on his back and sharp teeth nudging his shoulders as he trashed, trying to throw off the offending _thing_ who had managed to get the drop on him. Where the frag did it come from?! Soundwave screamed as he felt pointy fangs pierce through his armor. Energon and coolant flowed out of the holes and coated his armor as he continued to struggle, more desperate. It was only the shoulder for now, but if the beast on his back aimed for his neck, or for his _helm_ …

“Get off, you rusting bag of scraplet-infested spare parts!”

The weight on Soundwave’s back disappeared just as fast as it had appeared, accompanied with a yelp of pain and the tell-tale sound of a discharging blaster, non-standard model.

“And stay down, you glitch!” Ratchet snarled as he crouched down next to the telepath, looking and sounding more furious than Megatron after discovering yet another of Starscream’s scheme to kill him. “Soundwave! You can hear me?”

Soundwave blinked, managed to roll to his side and looked up at his lover with unsteady optics. “… is that a Sharkticon arm?” he asked dumbly, all the filters on his vocalizer discarded.

Ratchet gave him a look. “Obviously,” he said, waving the appendage. It still had a mounted cannon on it – and apparently, that was what Ratchet had just used to take down the thing mauling down Soundwave.

Soundwave blinked again. “You tore it off yourself?”

“No, I asked the Arm Fairy to give me something nice and she scooped down and threw it at me because I was such a nice mech,” Ratchet snapped as he checked the telepath over, frame sagging in relief as his scans showed that none of Soundwave’s injuries were serious; he had come in on time. “Of course I tore it down myself! And I’m damn glad I did! You can get up?” he asked, holding out a hand for Soundwave to take.

Soundwave grasped it with all the strength he had, letting Ratchet put him back on his feet. “Here,” the medic said, throwing a thankfully normal blaster in his lover’s hands. “You’re going to need it more than I, especially with your shoulder cannon in that state,” he eyed the damaged turret with a frown.

“Gift: very much appreciated,” Soundwave joked weakly. “Query: and you?”

Ratchet waved the armed arm he was still holding in answer. “I got it covered, and I have a couple others where it came from.” Plus a large supply of laser scalpels in his subspace, Soundwave thought privately. With Ratchet’s aim, should he throw them, they’d do some damage too. “Ready to give those glitch-spawned exhaust-sucker hell?”

“Ratchet: should watch language,” Soundwave replied as he stood back to back with the medic and started to shoot at anything unfriendly looking even remotely in their way.

“Soundwave, darling, your Cassettes know more insults than me,” the medic drawled, shooting as well. “Let’s go back to the medical contingent and get that shoulder of yours treated, shall we?”

Soundwave smiled thinly behind his mask. It sounded like a plan. “Soundwave: following your lead.”


	18. On The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet doesn't like sand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet!

“I hate sand,” Ratchet said in a deceptively mid tone. “It gets everywhere – and I mean everywhere. In your joints, in your seams, in your transformation cog, under your plating,…” he listed off on his fingers.

“In your interfacing array,” Soundwave added dryly, not resisting the temptation and earning himself a glare.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Ratchet grumbled. “Yes, that too.” He shifted uneasily, probably irritated by the intrusive substance. “I don’t know how Beachcomber handles it. We should have brought more blankets,” he added, looking down at the slightly ragged one they were using to sit in relative protection.

“Sand: would still have gotten in,” Soundwave pointed out. As Ratchet said, it got everywhere, even when they were being careful.

The sad part was, they hadn’t even tried to interface on the beach; they have remained completely chaste (well, asides of the heavy petting and kissing, but they had agree not to push). They just hadn’t accounted for the wind, for the blanket they were sitting on to shift so much, for just how easily sand stuck like glue to your plating when it was wet,…

Basically, they had been ill-prepared for this trip, and it showed.

Perhaps this idea to spent time on the beach hadn’t been such a good one after, all, the telepath mused.

Then again, they had chosen it specifically because _no one_ would have expected to go, thus letting them have some well-needed privacy. For some strange reason, people kept following them around and stare ever since they had revealed they had, ah, ‘hooked up’. Soundwave was unsure what surprised their comrades the most: that Ratchet had decided to go steady with a Decepticon of all mechs, or that **Soundwave** himself, the supposed ‘drone’, had an interface life.

Not that he cared about what other mechs thought.

He just found annoying the fact they wouldn’t leave them alone and were constantly trying to spy on them. Eck, Skywarp, Sideswipe and Jazz had all tried to bribe his Cassettes to get ‘steamy details’! Not that they’d ever get any Ratchet and Soundwave weren’t ready to share, the telepath thought with satisfaction. His Cassettes’ loyalty was absolute.

“Is it supposed to make me feel happier?” Ratchet groused, wiping his hands on the blanket in a vain attempt to get rid of more sand.

“Soundwave: merely stating the obvious. Will help clearing it off,” he offered. And he’d be sure to take all his time to do it too, he thought as he watched Ratchet’s irate expression turn mellow. Obviously the medic had caught on his intent.

“Oh, well. I suppose the view is nice,” the medic sighed, leaning his head against Soundwave’s shoulder.

The telepath could only nod as they quietly watched the sun set beyond the horizon, coloring the sky and the sea in hues of yellow, red and purple while the tides licked away the footsteps they had left in the wet sand of the shore. His arm surrounded Ratchet’s shoulders and held him steadier against him.

Just them, the empty, secluded beach and the sound of rolling waves: what more could they ask for?


	19. Silly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cassettes play babysitters for one drugged medic.

“Is he really having a conversation with the Cryo-Fish?” Rumble whispered in Frenzy’s audio receptor, optics wide with amazement.

“Yup,” his twin nodded.

“He’s aware it’s just some dumb pet, right? Not a Cassette or a sentient being?” Rumble asked again, because he just couldn’t believe it. It was just too ludicrous to believe. But here Ratchet was, crouched on the couch with an aquarium in his arms, talking and crooning at the dumb Cryo-Fish insides and holding a one-way conversation as if the fish was talking back.

“And that’s nothing; before that, he was jumping on one foot through all the room and poking at everything blue he could find,” Frenzy confided to his brother.

“But why?” Rumble asked in dismay.

Frenzy shrugged. “He’s drugged to the gills; you really wanna guess what’s going on in his CPU?”

“Uh, probably not,” Rumble replied after a moment of self-reflection. “Man, he had warned us those meds had potent side-effects, but I wasn’t expecting that.”

Quintessons bio-weapons weren’t fun, but the remedies were even less so. Half the time, they made you even sicker; Rumble had spent a decaorn purging his tank. In comparison, he thought Ratchet was lucky to only act totally silly.

  


He just wished he didn’t have to babysit him until he stopped being high as kite.

His brother elbowed him. “Boss did; why else would he have asked us to keep his lover-mech in one piece while he was out?”

Why indeed? Sure, Soundwave couldn’t skip that meeting, not with so many mechs already down with the virus or in the same state as Ratchet, but surely he could have found another way to make sure his lover wasn’t endangering himself while he was gone? “You think it’s revenge for the last prank we pulled?”

“Naw; just Boss-bot not trusting anyone but us to take care of the good doctor,” Frenzy dismissed the idea. “Mind, I wouldn’t trust them with him either; he’s ours now, you know?” Rumble nodded; of course Ratchet was theirs. Well, technically he was Soundwave’s, but all that was Soundwave’s was theirs too, even if they didn’t plan to interface with the medic. Ugh, gross! The point was, though, they took care of what was theirs and didn’t trust outsiders with it.

Especially not someone as precious as Ratchet. Not only did the medic made Soundwave happier than their Holder had been in thousands of vorns, but he was also giving them free medical care. That, and he came attached with an engineer who had the nicest weapons to hand them AND a pack of ‘big brothers’ with sharp teeth and matching bad temper.

The Dinobots seemed to have the same feelings toward Ratchet (and Wheeljack) than the Cassettes had toward Soundwave. Meaning, a scratch on the medic, and all hell would break loose on the responsible. At the same time, they seemed to think that now Ratchet was fragging Soundwave (or the reverse), then Soundwave was also theirs too – and the Cassettes too, by extension.

Which… had its perks, they had to admit. You could mess with a lot more mechs when you knew you had the Dinobots at your back.

Sadly, the Dinobots also seemed to think that the Cassettes ought to be responsible with Ratchet’s protection too. So if the medic came to harm while the Cassettes were nearby or charged to look after him…

“… Okay, perhaps it is,” Frenzy finally acknowledged. He didn’t think Soundwave would let the Dinobots kill them, but… “It’ll totally be about revenge if the doc gets injured on our watch,” he added worriedly as Ratchet started to grow agitated and suddenly threw the aquarium away. “Oh frag!”

Soundwave liked that stupid fish! And if the aquarium broke, there’d be shards everywhere and Ratchet may walk on them or pick them and cut himself and then they’d be in deep, deep troubles!

He sprinted forward, ready to catch the aquarium, but Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were quicker, one catching the aquarium, even if half the content sloshed out, and the other the Cryo-Fish he dropped back into the aquarium.

“Nice catch, guys,” Frenzy sighed in relief.

Buzzsaw cawed while Laserbeak flew back to perch herself on Ratchet’s shoulder. The medic blinked and started petting her. “Oh, hello pretty birdie; aren’t you the cutest thing ever?” he said goofily.

“… so much potential blackmail material, and we can do nothing with it,” Frenzy lamented before Rumble cuffed him behind the head. “Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Stay serious here! Seeing the doc acts silly is fun, but it’s not going to help us keep him in one piece! How long do we still have to wait before Soundwave get back?”

“Half a cycle,” Ravage purred from his spot on the floor, where he was enjoying the show. “You think you can handle it until then?” 

“Do we have a choice?” Rumble groused unhappily. Slagging Ravage; he was certain the cat was transmitting a live feed to Soundwave right now. Torture, he thought unhappily. It was slagging mental torture.

“Nope,” Ravage confirmed and rolled back into a ball, watching them all like the smug son of glitch he was.

Rumble and Frenzy exchanged a heavy look. Silly Ratchet was a bad Ratchet, and Soundwave would own them one when he’d get back. Totally.

Now, let’s just hope the ‘pretty birdie’ could hold his attention until the Boss got back…


	20. Angsty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is in surgery and Ratchet dreads the results. Jazz... Well, Jazz is seriously considering taking Measures.

“I should be in here,” Ratchet whispered helplessly, optics focused on the closed door in front of him. A hand patted him on the shoulder awkwardly and he glanced to the side to meet Jazz’s optics. The black and white mech’s face was full of understanding – but not pity, thank you Primus. Ratchet couldn’t have dealt with pity on top of, well, everything.

“It’s going to be alright,” Optimus’ TIC said quietly.

“How can you be so sure?” Ratchet asked brokenly, going back to watch the door – or rather, the light shining above, which indicated the surgery was still ongoing.

“Because I killed enough mechs to know when a wound is fatal,” Jazz replied simply. Ratchet turned again to glare at him, but Jazz refused to look guilty. It was war, and killing ‘bots was what he was good at, even under all his carefully crafted layers of good cheer and friendliness. He tried not to advertise the fact, sure, but Ratchet had put him back together so often after a mission went south and had pried enough dried fluids from under his fingernails to know exactly what kind of mech Jazz was in the shadows.

He still accepted Jazz as a friend despite everything, which warmed Jazz’s Spark. But that didn’t meant Ratchet liked to be reminded of _what_ Jazz was up to when no one was looking; simply put, it hurt his sensibility and clashed violently with his medical protocols, which insisted all lives needed to be saved.

“You’re not reassuring me at all,” he growled. Jazz had the decency to look sheepish, which satisfied the medic for a moment before his anxiety rose again and he turned back to stare at the door.

Jazz cursed under his breath. “Ratchet, please…”

“I should be inside. I should be leading the surgery. What if…?” he trailed off helplessly, lowering his gaze to stare at his hands, especially his right one, still wrapped in flexi-steel bandages. Of all the rotten lucks, getting shot in the hand and almost losing two fingers just when his lover took several hits to the chest…

Sometimes, Primus felt like being a bitch.

“Ratchet,” Jazz put a hand over his. “Look at me. Knock Out and Hook are very good surgeons. First Aid will second them just fine. Soundwave will be alright. And,” he added a little forcefully, “even if your hand had been fine, you know you wouldn’t have been authorized to work on him. Conflict of interests, remember?”

“Conflicts of interests can kiss my aft!” he snapped, incensed, before deflating. Jazz was right, of course – though given the lack of competent surgeons available, Ratchet could have forced his way through and no one would have batted an optic latch.

“He has to be fine, Jazz,” he whispered, grabbing Jazz’s hand with as much strength as he could. “He has to. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I know, mech,” Jazz petted his shoulder. “I know.” Which, if the whole alliance thing blew up, was going to be problem. Jazz was already working on solutions and countermeasures, including plain old kidnapping and sequestration. Ratchet wouldn’t like it, but one did what they had to do. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that…

Especially if Soundwave died on the operation table.

For all Jazz considered the wound non-fatal, he couldn’t deny it had been ugly looking. The Cassettes’ docking slot had taken a direct hit, and another had narrowly missed the Spark chamber. He couldn’t blame Ratchet for being fearful and angsty, especially since Ratchet’s programming probably kept reminding him of what could go wrong during repairs and induce a whole system crash, destabilize the Spark and plain kill his lover.

Ugh.

Once upon a time, Jazz would have cheered at the thought. Now, though, it just filled him with dread. He had no big love for Soundwave himself, but he liked Ratchet, damnit, and the two of them looked like a pair of lovebirds. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of those days, the two of them decided to become Conjunx Endura, as weird as the thought was.

First, though, they both had to survive the conflict. And their own anxiety when the other was injured.

Briefly, the Special Ops’ Head pondered just drugging Ratchet and let the medic recharge until the surgery was complete. It’d be easier for everybody’s nerves. He had already drugged up all of Soundwave’s Cassettes for the same reason (Ravage bite **hard** ), so one mech more wouldn’t be a big deal.

Perhaps not just yet, though. Given the way his optics had glued themselves on the door again, good old Ratchet wasn’t ready to budge or accept anything coming from him.

Still… if the angst didn’t go down soon, Jazz kept his options open.


	21. On Vacation

“Your comm. link keeps pinging,” Ratchet signaled obligingly as he lighted up an optic to stare at Soundwave.

“Soundwave: quite aware,” the blue mech replied, giving his lover a pat between his chevron but making no gesture to try and turn the pinging device on. Trustfully, he was in no hurry to move at all. Why should he? He was resting pleasantly in the shade with Ratchet’s head against his thigh while the medic slumbered and could easily follow the move of a particularly interesting elephant herd that didn’t seem to mind they had non-biological watchers. Such fascinating creatures…

“You’re not going to turn it on?” Ratchet inquired again, after yet another ping.

“Answer: negative,” Soundwave replied in a low voice, optics tracking a female elephant and her calf as they entered the water. He committed the scene to his memory banks, already making plans to share if with the Autobot Hound; the mech had politely requested for videos or image captures once he had learned where Soundwave had intended to go for his vacation, and given the request had been polite, Soundwave saw no reason not to indulge the other mech. Ratchet pretended he needed more friends anyway, and Hound… might do the cut. Ravage and Laserbeak certainly approved of him, which was rare.

But never mind.

“Soundwave: on vacation,” he reminded the medic, who had started to toss a bit.

“Ah. Right,” Ratchet sighed pleasantly, furrowing himself against Soundwave’s thigh. “And my own comm. link didn’t ping because…?”

“Ratchet: also on vacation,” Soundwave said plainly. “All calls addressed to Ratchet: re-routed to other capable medical personnel currently on the Ark. Comrades: should know better than to call Ratchet for minor things.” That was the perks of handling communications; he could make sure to give them both some privacy. Or relative privacy, anyway.

“How minor are we talking about?” Ratchet inquired, both optics flashing open. Soundwave could practically hear Ratchet’s medical protocols snapping online, so he was quick to calm the older mech down.

“Most of the calls: coming from Gears and Huffer,” Soundwave pointed out, which made Ratchet pause. Anything involving Gears and Huffer tended to be nothing more than hypochondriac bits. And if really they had, by some way, managed to truly injure themselves, Soundwave was confidant First Aid or Hoist or even the new arrival named Ambulon were more than adequate enough to deal with them.

“Oh. Right. Yes, minor things indeed,” Ratchet let out, medical protocols gradually turning themselves off with the reassurance that no, it wasn’t an emergency. Of course, Ratchet wouldn’t be Ratchet if he didn’t worry. “But if there really is an urgent call…” he warmed, looking at Soundwave upside down.

“Soundwave: will transmit the call,” the Decepticon’s TIC promised. He knew better than not to; while Ratchet wasn’t the only medic among the Autobots’ forces, he hadn’t earned the rank of CMO for nothing and if Optimus Prime or Prowl judged things so dire they needed him while he was off duty, then Soundwave trusted their judgment. Didn’t meant he’d like it, of course, but Soundwave understood and grudgingly accepted. “Emergency channel: in place and transport back to the Ark: planned if needed.” Because vacations or not, Soundwave was a professional and also took his precautions; Megatron could still decide to call him back as well. “Ratchet: go back to sleep.”

“Hmmph,” the medic groused a bit but snuggled deeper against him, optics already shuttered. He really needed the rest, that much was obvious. Pulling triple shifts four times in a row to deal with surgeries had taken a toll on him, whenever he verbally acknowledged it or not. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Going to catch some recharge of your own too?”

“In a bit,” Soundwave confirmed. For now, he wanted to make the most of his free time. And if that most was spreading his attention between watching one of his favorites Earth species (his only favorite, truly) going about their business and watching his lover’s easy expression while he slept, well… who could blame him?


	22. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave isn't jealous! Honestly, he's not!  
> ...  
> Though if Deadlock doesn't take a step back and away from Ratchet, he won't be responsible for whatever happens.

He wasn’t jealous, Soundwave told himself. Really, he wasn’t. He had absolutely no reason to be. It wasn’t as if Ratchet owned him anything. They were together, sure, but they had never said their relationship had to be mutually exclusive (though perhaps they should have said it, or put it in writing… or not; people didn’t like it when relationship came in with written clauses, Soundwave reminded himself).

Besides, Ratchet was absolutely allowed to make friends with whomever he wished, Soundwave forcefully reminded himself. Ratchet was a very friendly mech, for all his grumbling and his threats over one’s health. He had loads and loads of friends among the Autobots; Wheeljack, Perceptor, First Aid, the Twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Optimus Prime himself…

And Soundwave wasn’t jealous of them, was he?

He perfectly accepted the fact Ratchet had interfaced with Wheeljack (twice, a long time ago, the medic had self-admitted and the engineer had embarrassedly confirmed. Apparently, whatever had happened had convinced them they were better off as friends than as anything, and the only reason they weren’t officially Amica Endura was because they had both been too lazy to fill the proper paperwork before the war started and then it had seemed a bit too trivial to go through – plus, there hadn’t been a registration office anymore, so here went the idea). He had seen the looks the Twins sometimes threw the medic, as if they were absolutely smithen (well, Sideswipe was; Sunstreaker held more of a soft-tinged respect and had little gestures he didn’t have for anyone else, not even his brother, like keeping a door open when Ratchet came in with his arms full of crates). There were rumors about Optimus lying in berth with his officers, all of them (though apparently, it was _mostly_ platonic, at least according to what Soundwave’s Cassettes had gathered).

None of that bothered Soundwave, not at all.

He couldn’t even begrudge the mechs who kept looking at Ratchet as the medic moved on the dance floor and whistled at him – his lover was a very attractive mech, after all, and it was nice to know Soundwave wasn’t the only one noticing.

But for some reason, seeing Ratchet chat up, share a drink and dance with some of the new arrivals like Deadlock made Soundwave’s energon boil in his lines.

Perhaps it was the way Deadlock was looking at Ratchet, with an appreciation and a glint in his optics that went beyond what Soundwave deemed acceptable. Perhaps it was the way he had grinded against Ratchet on the dance floor. Perhaps it was the way he kept _touching_ Ratchet, holding his hand, squeezing his shoulder, poking at his chest…

Or perhaps it was the way Ratchet was looking back at Deadlock, as if he was… genuinely happy to see him. He had never seen Ratchet look at any Decepticon like that (except for Soundwave himself, of course, but that was different). He looked positively beaming while they talked and…

And yes, perhaps Soundwave **was** jealous after all. He was mentally debating wherever discreetly killing Deadlock would be possible and an appropriate answer when Ratchet finally dropped the conversation he was having and sauntered toward the telepath, looking very pleased with himself. His grin faltered and he started frowning the moment he was close enough to ‘taste’ Soundwave’s EM field; for all his attempts to keep it under wrap, there was no hiding his agitation from Ratchet.

“Well, someone is in a sour mood. Is there a problem?” the medic asked, leaning forward to look at Soundwave in the optics – well, visor.

“Negative. No problem,” the telepath denied, but he couldn’t help glancing at Deadlock. The other mech was smirking as he looked in their direction and he _definitely_ winked at Ratchet when the medic half-turned to see what Soundwave was staring at. Why, the little…!

“Okaaaay,” the medic drawled, raising an optic ridge. “Is there something between the two of you I should know about? Did he try to kill you? The reverse, perhaps? I know it happened a lot when Megatron looked the other way, even before Starscream pushed backstabbing to the rank of national sport.”

“Negative,” Soundwave denied again, keeping himself stiff. “Deadlock: excellent soldier. Animosity between us: inexistent.”

“And still you were briefly looking at him as if he had murdered your turbo-puppy. Why would you…?” the medic trailed off before leaning back and taking a good look at Soundwave, then glancing over at Deadlock – who was now in conversation with an obnoxious young mech sporting a bright, flames-patterned paintjob. Either Soundwave had relaxed or his EM had shifted, because Ratchet hissed. “No. I don’t believe it. Soundwave… are you… jealous of Drift?”

“No!” Soundwave replied a bit too quickly or strongly (for him) to be believable before pausing. “Query: Drift?”

“That was the name he had when I met him for the first time long before the war started,” the medic replied calmly. He had a lazy smile on his lips and his optics shone with amusement. “He was a young mech back then. I had always wondered what had become of him. While I’m not a big fan of his choices in life, I admit I was kinda overwhelmed and relieved when I saw him enter the lounge. I hadn’t expected him to recognize me too, but apparently I had left an impression and he was more than happy to, ah, ‘catch up’. I’m always happy to know a former patient pulled through.”

Soundwave stayed silent for a moment, the implications sinking in. Ratchet hadn’t been flirting – not intentionally at least. Deadlock, he wasn’t so certain about, but if Ratchet had identified him as a patient and only looked at him that way… “… Oh,” he finally said, feeling silly.

Ratchet let out a dry chuckle. “’Oh’ is right. I hadn’t pinged you for the jealous type,” he commented as he grabbed a cube of energon on the nearest table and sipped at it.

“Soundwave: no jealous,” the telepath denied. “Soundwave: just have… stacked interests,” he finished lamely.

“Stacked interests,” Ratchet repeated, looking thoughtful. “That’s a way to describe it. Remind me to use it the next time Mirage starts doing Dioptase-Doe optics at you and I have to remind myself it’s okay.”

“What?” the telepath said flatly.

Ratchet gave him a look. “You haven’t noticed, have you?” he asked rhetorically. “What, you think you’re the only one in our couple allowed to give other people Unicron’s optic when they start looking a little too friendly?”

“What?” Soundwave repeated again. Ratchet just poked him in the forehelm.

“I’m saying that ever since you sang those Primal Vernacular songs in dual tones during talent night, Mirage keeps following you around, and not just with his optics. You think it’s an accident if you find yourself so often talking to him in the Rec Room? Or do you think Cosmos often go out of his way to discuss deep space telemetry with people?” He was smirking, but it wasn’t an amused smirk. “Dearest, they’re trying to flirt with you,” he explained point-blankly.

That… was new. And overwhelming. And possibly a joke. “Impossible. Soundwave: is not…”

“A good-looking hunk of a mech many people would wish to bang?” the medic replied. “A sophisticated Spark who knows a lot about culture and art? You are, and I’m not the only one who noticed. I find it very annoying when some of them try to flirt with you while I’m in the room. Well, not with Cosmos; I actually find it cute, because he’s even more awkward at making small-talk than you,” he added as an afterthought.

“Cosmos,” Soundwave shook his head, remembering the conversation he had had earlier today with the round Minibot. Had it really been flirting? It hadn’t felt like that at all…

“Cosmos,” the medic confirmed with a nod. “And Mirage. Jazz made a pass at you too.”

“Jazz: makes a pass at everybody,” the telepath replied without thinking.

“Quite true, which is why I don’t truly feel jealous when he does.” Meaning, he WAS jealous of everyone else, Soundwave realized. It made him laugh briefly; here he had been getting worked up over Ratchet hanging out with other people, and his medic, his lover had had the exact same problem regarding Soundwave himself. Life loved little ironies like that.

“We have it bad for each other, haven’t we?” the medic said after a long moment of silence.

Soundwave just held his hand and squeezed. Sometimes, some questions didn’t warrant an answer.


	23. On His Knee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave shows his appreciation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline-wise, this snippet would propably be placed much earlier.
> 
> Warning: NSFW

“Soundwave, that’s hardly… ah… a-a-appropriate,” Ratchet muttered under his breath, hands clenched hard against the edge of his desk. It wasn’t the only thing that was hard, either, much to Ratchet’s chagrin. Kneeling in front of him, hands clasped against the medic’s white thighs and facemask retracted, Soundwave retracted his mouth from Ratchet’s node and smirked.

“Query: Ratchet cares about appropriate now?”

The medic glared, but it was without heat. It was difficult to come up with worthy protests when his spike was bobbing in the air and his valve was dripping lubricant like an over-eager Youngling who was getting his first introduction to oral. Which he totally wasn’t; Ratchet might not have reached the ‘old pile of rusty parts’ stage, but he readily admitted he hardly was a young mech anymore. It made the way Soundwave revved him up rather embarrassing in retrospect.

“I’m not kidding,” the medic tried to insist. “I’m supposed to be working. The door isn’t even closed,” he added as an afterthought.

“Soundwave: aware,” the telepath’s smirk widened, moving a thumb to rub it against the node he had previously been sucking on; Ratchet’s vents stuttered briefly and he stiffened, a drop of clear, non-nanites laced transfluid pearling at the tip of his spike.

“And… still… you continue?” Ratchet breathed in with difficulty. His core temperature had climbed again, and he could feel the charge building at the apex of his thighs rising up at high speed. Damn if Soundwave didn’t know how to use his mouth and fingers…

“Ratchet: really wish me to stop?” Soundwave asked rhetorically, mouth moving back to that wonderful spike, glossa lapping the underside and tracing patterns between the biolights, slowly progressing toward the tip.

“Don’t you dare!” the medic moaned, though he still cursed under his breath. “Damnit, mech; have some pity on me!”

“Decepticons: known to be pitiless,” Soundwave replied before sucking on a biolight, making Ratchet howl. Good thing the office was mostly soundproofed. Mostly. Whatever noise filtered was hopefully too unrecognizable to be thought as interfacing-related. Then again, First Aid knew his mentor and Megatron’s infamous TIC were an item, even if they hadn’t really shared it yet with anyone asides of Soundwave’s Cassettes. It was hard to hide anything from six pocket-sized individuals who regularly docked in your chest – and apparently, it was also hard to hide anything from a eager to please apprentice medic who had developed observation skills to make a black ops specialist pale with envy.

(Which briefly reminded Ratchet to have conversation with Jazz over **NOT** poaching his apprentice, thank you very much. You want to get a medically trained agent, go and catch your own. But that could wait for later. A lot later. Like, after he had overloaded later.)

“Decepticons are also, aaaah, also not supposed to kneel before anyone!” Ratchet’s hips bucked and Soundwave was quick to stop teasing the medic’s spike, changing target to go back to tease the plump lips of his valve. It was yet another treat he was savoring, unhurried and with due care, like the treasure it was.

He still smirked and looked up at his lover with affection, giving Ratchet’s thigh an affectionate pat. “Ah, but Ratchet: worth to get on his knees for.”


	24. Exhausted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is a very tired 'bot and Soundwave won't stand for it...

This time, Soundwave’s patience had reached its end. Arms crossed and back ramrod straight, he felt ready to march down to the command center and, very out of character for him, go yell at his Commanding Officers. The only reason he didn’t was because cold, hard logic made him acknowledge it wouldn’t change anything, asides of perhaps shocking them (because who had ever seen Soundwave lost his nerves) and/or make them thrown him in the brig for insubordination.

And if he did, who would take care of Ratchet?

(Wheeljack and the Dinobots didn’t count; Wheeljack was hardly ever on the base those days and the Dinobots, while surprisingly sweet and well-meaning when they wanted to be, would cave in to the demands of Ratchet if the medic insisted enough. For such imposing and dangerous mechanisms, they were real softies.)

Which only lead Soundwave to the only possible outcome: talk it through with Ratchet and hope to make the medic see sense.

“Situation: unacceptable.”

Ratchet just groaned, which might have been an agreement as well as a refusal. It was hard to say, given he was lying on his front, face hidden in his arms and in the pillows and very much looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

Which he hadn’t. Again.

“Ratchet: going to kill himself from exhaustion at this rate.”

“’m fine,” the medic mumbled, but given he hadn’t moved from his spot since coming in almost a megacycle ago, Soundwave felt justified into a) not believe him and b) ignore any protest he made.

“Vacations: much needed.”

At this, Ratchet managed to life his head a little and light an optic in his direction. “Can’t. No more to take. ‘member?”

Yes, Soundwave remembered – which only increased his agitation.

“Autobots: should force Ratchet to rest.”

“Do already,” Ratchet sighed, managing to slowly turn to his side. “’ptimus’ orders. Good night of sleep, else not allowed back in Medbay.”

Soundwave frowned heavily. “One night: not sufficient.”

“I know. They know. Can’t be helped. Gotta… help. Can’t let them die,” Ratchet murmured.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Ratchet truly believed that if he was absent, one of the many patients stacked in the Medbay would suffer a critical malfunction and die. The worst part, though, was that his fears weren’t entirely unfounded.

To be fair, Soundwave acknowledged, it wasn’t exactly Ratchet’s fault. Instead, it laid in how short-handed the medical staff among Cybertronian was. The alliance between Autobots and Decepticons may have brought together a formidable offensive force, but it had brought in little medical personnel, and what they had was already stretched thin.

The Constructicons were engineers first and they were mostly used those days to form Devastator and repair structural damages to bases, barricades and ships. Hook was the only one who still found time to perform as a medic, usually to second a surgeon named Knock Out they had gotten from Cybertron and with whom he had a rocky relationship. First Aid was often deployed with the rest of his Gestalt to form Defensor, limiting his time on the base (though he did procure a lot of, well, first aid on the lines). Hoist had been sent to relieve and assist the medic Pharma on Cybertron itself. Glit and Fracture were busy on Cybertron as well. Velocity and Minerva, two femmes who had come in with Elita One’s group, were reliable enough, but Minerva was still in-training and lacked the expertise for in-depth surgery while Velocity was already relieving Ratchet from all standard maintenance and basic diagnosis so he could concentrate on operations only. Fixit was focused on rescue patrols, the feisty little femme medic named Nickel a Decepticon team had brought back from Primus knew all didn’t want to leave the unit who had apparently saved her, which confined her to the frontlines. As for Ambulon, he was already overworked with the night shifts and the administration of vaccines and anti-virus patches through the whole army.

In those conditions, was it any wonder that Ratchet kept jumping from surgery to surgery to repair damaged lasercores, fill and repair breaches in Spark chambers, reattach limbs and treat delicate head wounds, never taking the time to properly rest?

His exhaustion was showing and never went fully away and Soundwave kept worrying.

“Statement: it can’t continue. More medics: direly needed.”

Ratchet onlined both optics this time. He looked sad, but more awake. “I know, Soundwave. Optimus knows it. _Megatron_ knows it. But it’s not that easy to fill the gap. Perhaps if some people hadn’t decided, a long time ago, that shooting the guys with the medical crosses first was fashionable…” he trailed off. Soundwave squashed down hard on any regret he felt over relying such an order. To be fair, when it had happened, no one had thought the war would last so long or cost them so much, and Megatron had rescinded the order as soon as he became aware of how dangerously low the number of qualified medics and nurses had become on Cybertron, no matter the faction.

Too little, too late, sadly. They were seeing the results now, and it was biting them in the aft.

“Training of new medics: not possible?” Soundwave asked, sitting gingerly on the berth by Ratchet’s side.

The white and red mech sighed. “Oh, it’s possible. It’s always possible. But forming a mech who doesn’t have the right predispositions or hasn’t been specifically Forged and built for the profession is incredibly hard and long – sorry to corroborate Functionism, but it’s a point on which they weren’t completely wrong,” he excused himself with a grimace, knowing how Soundwave and all Decepticons in general felt about the old doctrine. “Everyone can learn to be a doctor with enough time, of that I’m certain, but we don’t have that time.”

Soundwave hummed. He had expected it, really. He had been thinking about it himself for a while now, trying to come up with solutions. And… perhaps he had one. “If medic: can’t be formed among pre-existing mechs, would Optimus Prime: give permission for creation of specific medical units?”

Ratchet sat up brutally, almost falling and only Soundwave’s arm around his waist kept him steady. “What are you suggesting exactly?” he asked suspiciously.

For all answers, Soundwave transmitted him a handful of plans. Ratchet’s optics widened. “When did Wheeljack share them with you?” he asked in surprise. “No, never mind,” he waved the concern asides. “I bet you two had fun discussing designs while I was busy other where, uh?” Soundwave dipped his head in acknowledgement; the engineer and him had indeed found kinship in comparing their experience in frame creation once it had come up Soundwave had designed most of his Cassettes’ shells himself.

Ratchet looked at his lover with a mix of giddiness and wariness. “I don’t know, Soundwave. Those designs were scrapped for a reason, and you know how they all feel about _them_ …”

“Concern: understood. But,” Soundwave took his hands in his, “this is war. Medics: needed,” he stressed out. “Their design or team assignation: secondary. Priorities: relieve other medics and save lives. Surely Prime: agrees?”

“If you present it like that, most likely,” Ratchet acknowledged. “Not sure if Megatron will be impressed, though.”

“Soundwave: will deal with Megatron,” the telepath waved the concern asides. “So Ratchet: agrees?”

The medic shrugged. “Why not? But you know I can do it alone, right?”

“Soundwave: more than ready to help and improve previous schematics,” the blue mech pointed out.

Ratchet smirked. “I bet you are; you could just say you want to build a kid with me, you know,” he poked at Soundwave’s chest. “I’ll contact Wheeljack as well, see how fast he can come back here. No way I’m working on it without him. I hope you understand?” he added, sounding vaguely worried.

Soundwave just nodded in reassurance. “Soundwave: wouldn’t have expected it otherwise.”


	25. Transforming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet, Soundwave and Wheeljack work on a project...

“Again,” Ratchet asked, optic ridges furrowed as he looked at the device in his hand. Next to him, Wheeljack’s vocal indicators were flashing brightly (in joy or excitement, it was hard to say; Soundwave had yet to learn to discern the subtler nuances of the flashing lights, though their study was a fascinating subject he hoped to have time to devote to).

“Yes, please Soundwave! Again!”

Soundwave didn’t sigh, but it was close. “As you wish,” he said flatly, engaging his transformation sequence, letting his parts shrink and twist and the world around him turn gigantic as he folded upon himself, changing into the ‘Cassette Player’ which composed his altmode since their awakening on Earth.

“Satisfied?” he intoned dryly as Wheeljack giddily babbled while recording the process once more with various types of cameras, scanners and devices Soundwave didn’t want to even guess the function of.

Deft hands caught him and settled him comfortably on the medical berth, Ratchet taking a small step back and nodding. “For now,” the medic acquiesced, a small smile on his lips as he waved at him to let Soundwave know he could transform back to root mode. “You have very interesting schematics, you know. And the extent to which you mass-fold is incredible; your protoform and your subspace are even more compressed than Blaster’s.”

“Soundwave: unsurprised,” the telepath said as he turned back into a mech, grateful to be able to do so in a sitting position this time; doing ‘transform ups’ upright had started to be tiring as well as irritating. While the irritation had been noticeable for a while now, he hadn’t thought Ratchet had noticed about the exhaustion. He should have known better; nothing could escape the medic’s optics for long. “Blaster and Soundwave: may belong to same basic frame type, but origins: different. Blaster’s schematics: typical of Iaconian subtype. Soundwave’s making: closer to Urayan subtype.”

“Oh? So you’re from Uraya originally?” Wheeljack asked curiously, to which Soundwave shook his head.

“Negative. Soundwave’s city of origin: unknown.” He tapped the side of his helm lightly, right where a shot had clipped him a long time ago, even before the war started. “Head injury: resulted in destruction of many early memories stored in core.”

Wheeljack’s good cheer dimmed and Ratchet twitched. Right. Soundwave may have shared his medical history with the medic, but his lover didn’t necessarily like to learn about all the various near-death experiences the telepath went through. “Oh. I’m sorry,” Wheeljack murmured.

Soundwave just shrugged. “Past: in the past. Wheeljack and Ratchet: have sufficient data now?” he asked, trying to focus back on the work they were all involved in.

“Hum? Oh, yes, yes,” Wheeljack nodded, waving the camera he was carrying around. “I don’t know how to thank you enough. Between your schematics, Blaster’s, all your Cassettes’ and the 3-D modeling I’ll be able to pull together and study, I think we have a real chance to make it work.”

“Wheeljack: welcome,” Soundwave nodded at him before looking at Ratchet. “Ratchet: satisfied as well?”

“I’ll fully be when we have the final plans laid out, but yes, I suppose I’ll be for the time being,” the medic said as he turned away without another glance at the telepath, replaying whatever sequences he had recorded on the device in his hand, humming thoughtfully and muttering under his breath as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Soundwave wasn’t bothered. Wheeljack and Ratchet himself had warned him: when the medic was focused on something, be it a medical problem or an engineering brainstorming session with his fellow Autobots, he turned off everything else. The telepath had already seen it firsthand. “Soundwave: glad to help,” he just said. “Help: further requested?”

He wasn’t an engineer or a medical expert, after all, and while he knew his way around frames and had built most of his Cassettes mods by himself, he knew the sheer scale of the project they were working on was beyond his capacities. At the same time, Wheeljack and Ratchet had a lot of knowledge between them, but the kind of subspace displacement and folding they were aiming for was delicate to balance with the other systems they wanted to integrate, not to mention the decking systems they were also hoping to include.

That was why Soundwave had offered himself as a subject of study, to help in any way he could.

Ratchet’s head snapped up. “Of course it is!” he said indignantly. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to leave us stranded! It’s going your baby too, in case you forgot!”

“Statement: impossible to forget,” the telepath defended himself, Spark beating faster. ‘Baby’… He liked that word. Sure, Wheeljack was going to be playing the third ‘parents’, but to think he and Ratchet were creating something together had an exhilarating side.

“Good,” Ratchet nodded. “Now come here, would you? I don’t understand how your transformation cog makes it work. You’re sure you don’t have a second one stuffed somewhere? Because the way it works on the microscopic level doesn’t make sense unless there is a backup somewhere and…”

“Come to think,” Wheeljack added in, shaking with excitement, “how is the mass-folding impacting your Cassettes? They grow up in mid-transformation sequence too, right? So is their transformation based on the same model or is it different? And if it is, how much and how can it be reproduced?”

Ah, right. A scientist and a medic facing a mystery; a deadly combination if there ever was one.

Squaring his shoulders, Soundwave mentally prepared himself to answer as many technical questions as he could. Good thing he had anticipated most of them already and prepared a list of in depth subjects he could be quizzed on before they even started. He was ready for it, he told himself.

He could do it.

So long they didn’t ask him to transform again today, that’s it.


	26. Obedient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave and Ratchet are on infiltration mission...

“What a pretty slave you got there,” the alien being crooned as he hovered over Ratchet, his four eyes scanning the mech before him up and down as he turned around him, rubbing his hands and doing nothing to hide his interest. Aft.

But really, who could blame him? The sight before him was intriguing and arousing; a white and red mech with the nicest blue optics, hands neatly folded into his laps as he stood at attention, head bowed to not look at his betters while awaiting orders, an heavy metal shock-collar locked around his neck and a leash hanging from a hoop in the front, ready to be grabbed and drag him away or forward should he not obey fast enough.

It was known Cybertronians were lookers, especially those belonging to that red-faced faction in that little civil war of theirs, but he hadn’t realized how much until now. It made him itchy to get his hands on a specimen of his own to keep and play with.

“You’re sure you wouldn’t consider parting with him?” he asked the slave’s owner, a blue-painted, mask and visor wearing mech with a purple faction symbol on his chest. The other side of that little civil war, the brutish, more dangerous ones; they were known to be dangerous to cross and far more, ah, ‘pragmatical’ in their ways. They were warriors who reveled in battle and blood (or whatever those beings had for blood) and who took pleasure in crushing their enemies under their feet. They ravaged world, pillaged resources and reduced entire populations in slavery.

Everybody knew that.

Thus a mech with a purple symbol dragging around a collared and leashed mech with a scratched red symbol was perfectly logical and expected in this shady space-station where smugglers, criminals and adepts of the black market gathered.  
Curiously, though, they hadn’t seen any such pair in thousands of years.

But it certainly wasn’t important.

“Answer: negative,” Soundwave replied shortly, keeping his tone even and smooth. Calmly, he gestured for the white mech standing beside him to come closer. “Slave: come here.”

“Yes, Master,” Ratchet replied demurely in a whisper, managing to look serene and respectful with just a bit of fear mixed him as he walked unhurriedly to his Master.

Soundwave grabbed the short leash hanging from Ratchet’s collar and gave a tug, forcing the medic to lean forward until he had no choice but to half-kneel, half-sit on the bench next to Soundwave. Another tug on the leash and a ‘helpful’ arm started to arrange the medic’s position until Ratchet was curling against the telepath’s side, head resting on his lap as Soundwave started to pat him. Ratchet’s optics were dim as he stared forward without really looking at anything or anyone and a soft noise escaped him as Soundwave’s pets turned toward his chevron.

“And so wonderfully trained too,” the alien sighed wistfully, optics still staring at Ratchet with an intensity that was frustrating and worrisome. “It’s good when they’re obedient, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said blandly. He eyed the organic alien back, feeling vaguely discussed by his existence and the way he was obviously interested in HIS Autobot, watching the way his hands minutely twitched as if he wanted nothing more than to go and touch _Ratchet_. Sick fragger would go suck exhaust ports in a trash compactor, he thought viciously.

And he wasn’t the only one to think so.

::If he doesn’t keep his sleazy servos to himself, he’s going to lose them!::

Soundwave didn’t outwardly react to the violent threat his lover proffered on their shared, heavily encrypted personal comm. channel, but he made a point of sending an acknowledging ping. He had to give it to Ratchet; for all his cursing, his EM field didn’t extend, staying neatly coiled around him and betraying nothing of his thoughts and mood, and his face stayed outwardly blank.

He could only admire his nerves and the sheer size of his bolts; had Soundwave been pushed into the role of the slave for their little diversion/Intel-gathering mission, he’d probably have snapped already and committed murder already. As it was, he was still sorely tempted to do it on his lover’s behalf.

::Don’t,:: Ratchet warned, turning his head a little to burrow his cheek against Soundwave’s thigh, as if he was reacting to the petting and craved more. ::We can’t afford to play our hand now. Mirage and Jazz still haven’t given us the a-okay.::

::Mission: taking too much time,:: Soundwave replied moodily as he forced himself to nod politely when the four-eyed alien offered to pay him a drink while they ‘chatted’ about that smuggled cargo of weapons Soundwave had ‘supposedly’ brought with him and what price he was expecting out of them. Good thing Swindle had coached him at long and large on such dealings. He wished the Combaticon was here, just like he wished Jazz had found someone else to be part of this ‘little venture’, as he called it, but sadly it wasn’t possible. Swindle had accidentally burned bridges with a lot of former contacts over one deal gotten sour too many and Jazz was too busy infiltrating the secured servers of the station while Soundwave and Ratchet played the shiny diversion, Bumblebee was ready with the get-away vehicle and Mirage stood invisible somewhere with a sniper riffle to cover them should they retreat unexpectedly.

::Deal with it, love. You were the one who wanted to try something different for the war effort,:: Ratchet reminded him.

::If Soundwave had known what cover Jazz had come up with, Soundwave: would have refused. Ratchet: no-one’s slave.::

::What, you don’t like me collared and obedient, ready to satisfy all your desires?:: the medic send him the mental equivalent of a snort. ::And here I thought it was one of your fantasies.::

A thrill went down Soundwave’s back, who tugged at the leash, making Ratchet yelp as he was forced upward. A thumb pressed against his lips and without cues, the medic started to lick it. In front of them, the four-eyed alien gulped. ::Ratchet: never obedient.::

::So sure of it, are you?:: the medic purred. ::I could be, just for you.::

::… Idea of doing it in front of other people: not arousing the slightest.:: Though he couldn’t deny that in private, such a setting, while unorthodox, would certainly had made him revv.

::I’ll be taking it in consideration,:: the medic replied, mouth closed around Soundwave’s finger, optics half-shuttered and looking like he didn’t have a care in the world but his ‘Master’s pleasure’, despite the inherent danger of their situation.  
There was a beat of blessed silence on the line before…

::I wonder if I can convince Jazz to let us keep the collar and the leash.::

Suffice to say, it took a lot of Soundwave’s self-control not to start sputtering without reason right here and there…


	27. Naughty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they visit and old, hidden Medbay, Soundwave learns a few interesting things...

“Well, home sweet home, so to speak,” Ratchet sighed as he sidestepped a piece of rubble (given the hole in the ceiling through which water was leaking and forming a puddle, it wasn’t hard to guess where it had come from) and took a few careful steps in the devastated room, Soundwave on his heels. “Careful where you put your pedes, please. Jazz and Elita both made surveys and assured me the ground was still stable, but as you can see,” he waved his hand around, “vorns of bombings on the surface still took their toll out of this place.”

That was quite the understatement, Soundwave thought to himself as he took hide of Ratchet’s advice and inched away from a puddle of suspicious liquid – probably some sort of coolant, given the color, but it could as well as been something more dangerous. Layers of dust covered everything, some of them darker than others, which indicated there had been passage there even after the ‘bay was officially abandoned. Probably Elita’s team searching for supplies or Jazz’s agents taking refuge from Shockwave’s drones army during the worst of the war.

While the place was still structurally sound, apparently, it had still taken damages. Ruptured canalizations had leaked through the ceiling and the walls and led to the development of moldy spots. Bombing on the surface had dislodged bits and odds which, in place, had pierced the ceiling. There was also a few scorching marks left in various places, possibly evidences of one or several fires quickly put down.

Hard to imagine that this sorry place had once been a thriving Medbay, one of the firsts if not THE very first Ratchet had created for the Autobots – and that it had once been a major thorn in the Decepticons’ flank. Nothing was more irritating that a secret Medbay to which injured enemies were spirited off the battlefield only to come back repaired in half the time they should logically have come back from the official, already located Medbays and Autobot bases known to the Decepticons.

Soundwave had tried for vorns to discover it, only to fail again and again. It was one of the rare failures of his career, one that had frustrated him to no end.

Though now Ratchet had led him through the labyrinth of tunnels, canalizations and sewer systems that formed Cybertron’s underground and the access path to this little enclave, Soundwave understood better why he had.

“Former Medbay: well-hidden,” he reflected aloud, gaze wandering around.

Ratchet harrumphed, though his EM field buzzed with pride. “Given **who** chose the implantation site, are you really surprised?”

“Jazz?” Soundwave half-guessed, which Ratchet confirmed with a sharp nod. Well, it explained a lot, including the reinforced supports for the ceiling, the discreet extra paneling resistant to blaster fire lining the walls and the very path to come down here.

“Special Ops gets up to many shenanigans, as you well know,” the medic commented, making his way toward a dust-covered desk which, once upon a time, must have been his. “Many of them knew better than to go back directly to their assigned base after finishing up their missions. Too highly strung, too paranoid, too covered in the energon of others for most medics to not be spooked by,…” he listed off as he checked the drawers’s content, taking out various medical devices that seemed in poor shapes. “Regular medics just weren’t physically or mentally equipped to deal with them, so it was best for everyone involved they made a ‘pit-stop’ here first. Saved many of them from bleeding out from injuries they had not noticed, too,” he added with a grim smile, muttering under his breath about idiots overriding their systems when they listed damage reports.

“But Ratchet: held true,” Soundwave pointed out, and the medic looked up at him with a warmer smile.

“I wasn’t some rookie out of medical school with no prior experience of violence; I had spent years working in the slums before the war started. I was already used to roughhousing and dangerous patients. It’s probably why Jazz’s boss picked me up to take care of his mechs before someone’s lucky shot blew up his CPU. It wasn’t a loss; mech was a prissy, secretive bastard, even for an Ops member,” he grumbled. “Medical files for spies, assassins and counter-spies were always layered between ‘official’ and ‘officious’ and that fragger didn’t see a point into putting obvious information in the ‘officious’ ones. Like the fact one of his agents could develop a deadly reaction to a common anesthetic, or the fact another had retractable blades hidden in his seams. I almost lost a couple fingers when I tried to operate him and they activated automatically upon incising.” His face briefly turned thunderous. “Things got better for us medics when Jazz took the position. He was a much better listener when I pointed out problems. I certainly never lost another intern to ‘friendly’ stab wounds once he took charge.”

Ratchet shook his head, letting out a brief chuckle as Soundwave choked gasp. “What, it never happened on the Decepticons’ side?”

Soundwave nodded reluctantly. “Situation: similar,” he admitted. “But Soundwave: displeased learning Ratchet was ever in danger.”

“That’s a medic lot when he’s working with dangerous patient,” Ratchet shrugged, sorting through the items he had put on his desk, the frown on his face letting Soundwave known he needed quiet for a moment.

Letting his lover to his checkup, the telepath’s gaze wandered around, taking in the surviving medical equipment. Vorns of desertion had taken their toll on what must have once been a pristine, fully-stocked infirmary but at its prime, it must have been top-of-the-art. Scanners, medical imaging machines, operation berths with integrated, articulated arms to assist the surgeon in compliment or replacement of a nurse, stirrups,…

Wait. Stirrups?

Soundwave blinked. “Query: why stirrups?” It seemed really out of place. Unless… The telepath winced. Rapes had been commonplace once upon a time and of course medics had to deal with the aftermath.

“Oh, that?” the medic said from just behind him, almost making him jump. Red hands appeared around his waist. “Obstetric exams, of course. And, a few memorable times, for a Sparkling’s emergence,” he chuckled fondly.

“… Sparkling emergences?” Soundwave repeated weakly. Surely, Ratchet was jesting? And how could he not mention…? Ah. Because he didn’t want to spoil the mood with b ad memories, of course. Though the Sparkling bit was unexpected and possibly false. No one had Sparklings anymore; it was an obsolete method of creating a newspark, thank to Vector Sigma, and he was no shy about saying so.

Ratchet just shrugged, moving to stand in front of the berth with stirrups. “Obsolete as it is, many mechs still have the internal forge necessary to create a protoform. They just lack the coding to activate it,” he explained. “And Special Ops members had this bad habit of coming up with upgrades for their firewalls in case of hacking which just _happened_ to march the coding for activating the gestational chamber.” He patted the berth before sitting gingerly on the edge, rolling his shoulders with a sigh as he leaned his weight on his outstretched arms. “Many of them didn’t report they were having ‘abdominal issues’ until one of them just keeled over one day, screaming bloody murder. The moment they saw there was a _helm_ dropping from between his legs, they started running around like headless Robo-Hens. After that, everyone in the Ops came up on mandatory checking. Half of them had an active forge by the time I went through all of them, and three more already had a Sparkling in gestation. Coding experts had a field day coming up with a solution to turn the forges back into inactive mode, and I had a field day giving a bunch of grownup mechs able to kill fellows with their pinky a lecture on safe interfacing in the meanwhile,” He shook his head with a laugh and Soundwave was caught in between laughing as well and commiserating with the poor, unsuspected mechs who had gone through it.

A detail interested him, though.

“Query: what became of Sparkling? Sparklings,” he amended. He couldn’t remember any intel on Sparklings anywhere in the Autobot ranks before they left Cybertron. Either they had been well-hidden, or they…

“We put them in the care of Elita’s unit,” the medic patted Soundwave’s hand gently, understanding what he feared. “While not Special Ops themselves, they were sneaky and secretive enough that no one on the Decepticon side managed to make a headcount. But I’m teaching you nothing new, am I?” No, he did not, but Soundwave still nodded. “They grew up safe and sound. You even met two of them. Hot Rod and Flare-Up,” he added at Soundwave’s tilt of the head.

Oh. Ooooooh. Well… that might explain much about their (im)maturity, then, the telepath mused. He wasn’t an expert on Sparklings, but from what he had gathered from offhand reading, their mental and physical development took a very long time. They started small, even smaller than Cassettes like Rumble and Frenzy. It was hard to picture, but it was also making him curious.

“Soundwave: would have enjoyed seeing a true Sparkling,” he confessed.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. “Would you?”

The telepath nodded. “Statement: true. Did Ratchet: see many Sparklings?”

“As a medic, not that many, no. As you said yourself, it’s an outdated method. Not many mechs were ready to commit the time and funds necessary to raise a newspark from scrap when getting one in adult frame was cheaper and easier – at least, if you had the right connections,” he made a face, referencing the rampant abuses and corruption of the old mentoring system. “Kup could probably tell you dozens of stories, though, for he onlined in a time where they were frequent. That said, when I came online for the first time, you could still find mechs opting to go through gestations. That was why all models of my generations had a forge installed,” he commented offhandedly.

Soundwave stilled. “Ratchet: able to bear Sparklings?” he asked slowly, not sure he had understood right.

“Yep,” Ratchet confirmed, wiggling his aft a little on the berth, as if searching for a more comfortable position. “Mind you, I’d first need to activate the coding to bring it online but the forge or gestation chamber, take your pick, is definitely here. It’s connected to the back of my valve through a narrow conduit closed by a spiraling iris. When the forge is activated, the iris opens during interfacing and allows transfluid to slide in. The forge itself, once activated, secrete a nanite-rich liquid of its own, which react to the transfluid to kick start the creation of a protoform. The protoform itself will grow up thank to that nanite-rich liquid, which it’ll keep bathing in until it’s ‘viable’, upon which the forge will send the signal it’s ready to open and let the protoform out through the valve and into the world,” Ratchet explained calmly, but with a giddy light in his optics that made Soundwave’s engines rev in anticipation.

“Query: what of the Spark? Protoform: created with one?” He had moved closer to the berth and was now eyeing the stirrups with more interest, his optics wandering from them to Ratchet.

“Hmm, it’s a bit more complicated,” Ratchet allowed, moving his legs apart just so and chuckling when Soundwave grabbed and lifted them, guiding them to the stirrups while he went flat on his back on the berth, “Oh, you naughty mech!”

“Ratchet: naughtier,” Soundwave chided him. “Ratchet: sat there for a reason.”

“Maybe I did,” the medic replied cheekily, “though I certainly didn’t suggest anything aloud.”

“Voiced suggestion: unnecessary when EM field: reeking of lust.” He looked around the medbay. It certainly wasn’t the worst place they could interface in and at least here, nobody could accuse them of being unprofessional. It wasn’t as if that ‘bay was still in use, after all. “Ratchet: finishes answering earlier query?” he asked, letting his hands run on the medic’s legs.

“For the Spark, you mean?” the medic sighed happily as Soundwave’s fingers dug into the cabling of his knees. “It’s not really complicated, but it requires some luck. It usually takes frequent Spark merges to form a Sparkling’s own Spark. Extra energy from the merge is leeched by the Carrier’s systems and brought down to the forge through various conduits. Once there, if the protoform has formed a Spark chamber of its own already, the extra energy from the merge will condensate and concentrate and, with luck, will create a tiny Spark which will be holding traits from both its ‘parents’.”

“Can Sparkling be birthed if no Spark?” the telepath asked as he caressed Ratchet’s legs up to his thighs.

“Technically, yes. It happens. But then it’s only an empty frame, not a real mechlet,” the medic nodded, looking grave. “It can still greet a Spark, of course, but it’s trickier. Back in the day, those empty frames served for emergency transfers when a little one got too injured to be repaired, or to greet a split Spark when Twins decided to reveal themselves. Does it answer your questions?”

“Soundwave: has many, many more,” the telepath said, moving in between Ratchet’s legs. “Query: is iris for the forge visible through… visual exam?” His fingers came to rest over the panel hiding Ratchet’s array.

“Hmm, yeeeeesss, I suppose it is, provided the dilatation of the valve is, ah, ‘optimal’,” the medic’s back arched as Soundwave started to rub circles over his panel with his thumbs. “A tool… a tool would help, though. Got a speculum in working state in the desk drawer, and surviving bottles of disinfectants.

“Suggestion: noted,” Soundwave acknowledged, continuing his slow rubbing. “Ratchet: mentioned transfluid needed to enter the forge. Query: large amounts requested?”

“Not… not necessarily,” Ratchet moaned breathlessly. “Usually a sip is enough, when the forge is in peak condition but… the more… the more the better,” he managed to say, head lolling to the side as he lost the battle and let his panel slide aside, allowing Soundwave’s fingers to pry apart the folds of his valve. “Aaah! Careful there, lover boy.”

“Soundwave: will be,” the telepath promised. “Other query: Spark merges not necessary for conception itself?”

“Normally I’d say no, but I’m an old mech, so perhaps it could help,” the medic replied with a wink. “Why, Soundwave, could it be that you’re interested in making a true Sparkling with me?”

“Soundwave: more than interested,” the blue mech replied, pushing the folds further asides delicately.

“My forge isn’t yet activated, you know,” the medic pointed out, optics shining with lust. “There won’t be a Sparkling in me today.”

Soundwave’s facemask snapped open. He was grinning. “Then today: will be training session for Soundwave to master Sparking you up.”

“Oh? And how much training do you think you’ll need?” Ratchet purred, rising on his elbows.

Soundwave bowed down to kiss him. “As much as possible. Ratchet: good teacher but Soundwave: uncertain yet if he’s good student.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” the medic grinned as he broke the kiss. “Step forward, ‘Doctor’ Soundwave; it’s time to practice.”

Soundwave’s grin widened. “With pleasure, Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're near the end, folks!
> 
> As you may have noticed, the chapter count went from 28 to 29. Why? Simply because I wrote two versions of 'Happy', following two different timelines/in-universe events. The first one is related to the 'Exhausted' and 'Transforming' chapters, in a timeline where Cybertronians don't have traditional babies, while the other is related to this 'Naughty' part and feature Mech preg. That way, you may take your pick ^^
> 
> First version of 'Happy' will be posted next week, so stay tuned ;)


	28. Happy - 1st Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a baby on the way, much to the happy parents' delight :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of Happy is related to the Naughty chapter.

It was faint. So much faint that if he hadn’t been looking forward to it, he would have missed it. But he did not, and Soundwave’s face broke into a big, enthusiastic smile.

“He moved!” he exclaimed giddily, looking up to his lover. Ratchet looked benevolently at him, reclining in his seat, his hand over Soundwave’s as it pressed against the small bump in his abdomen. Unlike humans, Cybertronian who were ‘spawning’ rarely showed their state as their internal mechanisms and subspaces pocket hide a lot of the extra mass. The bump in Ratchet was unlikely to grow more, but it didn’t stop Soundwave to stare at it and cradle it in his hands with utter fascination.

“Of course he did,” Ratchet replied calmly. “I told you he kept doing it.”

“True, but Soundwave: not around when it happened before,” the telepath replied, letting his facemask slide asides and pressing a cheek against Ratchet’s ‘baby bump’. The plating was too thick to even feel a whisper of EM field emanating from the gestation chamber and it was unclear if a Sparkling developed one before emerging from its Creator’s body, but Soundwave liked to think there was one and that it could pick his presence through Ratchet’s body.

He knew the little one was already sentient, or close enough. Less than a decacycle ago, both Soundwave and Ratchet had startled when Soundwave had picked up an extra presence in their apartment, someone who wasn’t a Cassette or an Autobot guest or a spy (Mirage and Jazz couldn’t help it, thousands of vorns playing hide-and-seek with the enemy had left their mark on them and staying invisible and observe everything had become part of the way they operated, for better or for worse).

Soundwave was ashamed to admit it had taken him a moment to realize the new ‘presence’, small and indistinct as it was, was emanating from near Ratchet – or rather, from _inside_ Ratchet. Passed the first startled, the medic had beamed, for it was a definite proof a Spark had decided to take residence in the tiny Spark chamber of the still-developing frame.

“At least we know he has a Spark and it’s not just an empty frame I’m constructing,” Ratchet murmured, servo caressing Soundwave’s exposed cheek as the telepath hummed in contentment. “Not that it would have been wrong to birth an empty frame, because Primus knows we may need many to rebuild our population, but…”

But then it wouldn’t have been ‘their’ Sparkling, Soundwave mentally finished for him. He understood.

“Ratchet: wants more energon?” the blue mech asked, turning his visor upward to look at his lover.

“No thanks, I’m full,” the medic objected with a wave. “Just like I was ten kliks ago when you last proposed.” At Soundwave’s discomfited expression, he laughed. “Sweetling, you need to relax. I know how to take care of myself and the little one. Do you doubt me so?”

“Negative!” Soundwave shook his head vehemently. He never doubted Ratchet’s ability to take care of himself (asides of perhaps letting himself work to exhaustion due to a sense of duty), just like he never doubted the medic would always put the interests of a patient first and foremost – and the Sparkling growing insides him was a patient, kind of. He certainly was the most important being in Ratchet and Soundwave’s existence at this very moment and one had to pity the fool who would try to bring harm or threat to the fragile newspark. “Soundwave: trust Ratchet. It’s just…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“Worried?” Ratchet asked sympathetically. “There is no reason to be, trust me. I’m fine. The bitlet is fine. We’ll both be fine. Then I’m going to have to expulse it out of my body and I will probably curse you and threaten to disembowel you and cut off your spike,” he added thoughtfully, though there was a glint of amusement in his optics.

“Ah, ah,” Soundwave replied morosely. He wasn’t looking toward this part, even if he knew Ratchet was (mostly) joking. Unlike Earthlings’ ‘childbirth’, Sparkling emergence was a relatively painless process, although uncomfortable. The Autobot female humans allies had looked jealous when Ratchet had shared the knowledge with them, and perhaps sharing their own tales of childbirth and child-rearing had been petty revenge on their part. Soundwave didn’t know; he had wisely chosen to back away and leave the room while he still could.

They stayed silent for a moment. “Query: how long now?”

“If the development of this Sparket is on par with the length of an average gestation cycle? Two orns at the most,” Ratchet hummed. “We’re getting close. You think you’re ready?”

“Soundwave: always ready,” the telepath murmured, snuggling against the bump. He could feel a tendril of consciousness reaching out for him. The Sparkling was sensing him, or at least sensing the additional weight on his Carrier’s frame and was intrigued. Soundwave dearly wished he could answer him properly, but that wouldn’t have been wise, not given how underdeveloped the tiny processor still was.

Still, it added to his giddiness.

“Someone looks very happy,” Ratchet noted, smiling.

“Soundwave: very happy indeed,” the telepath nodded. “Is Ratchet happy too?” Pure formality; he already knew the answer. He could taste it through his mind and EM, being literally soaked in contentment and happiness.

The medic chuckled, patting his cheek. “Silly mech; as if you needed to ask.”

And the smile he gave Soundwave was the sincerest proof he’d ever be able to give.


	29. Happy - 2nd Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Soundwave becomes parents. Kind of. Wheeljack too. And the Dinobots get new baby siblings, with matching sweet and sour personalities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version is related to 'Exhausted' and 'Transforming' chapters :)

“Them be awake soon?”

Soundwave tried not to show annoyance as Grimlock’s massive head hovered over his shoulder to peek at the figures lying still on the medical berth. Again. No matter how many times he tried to push him away (which, admittedly, was ridiculous given their difference in size, weight and strength), the mechanical T-Rex kept coming back. And when it wasn’t him, it was Sludge. Or Slag. Or Snarl. Or Swoop. Sometimes all of them together. And neither Soundwave’s protests, Wheeljack’s gentle chiding and Ratchet’s threats were enough to chase them away for longer than a few Earth minutes.

It was, however, hard for Soundwave to blame them for their invasiveness and their impatience, and he knew Wheeljack and Ratchet both shared his ‘indulgence’.

It wasn’t every day you brought new mechs online for the first time.

And it wasn’t every day you made Dinobots (and thank Primus for that!).

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied, keeping his voice calm and steady. A trick he had learned with Grimlock was to not let your frustration show, because them the big mech kept pushing until you blew. And if you tried to attack him then… well, you couldn’t complaint about the thrashing he gave you then, could you? “Grimlock: will be informed when it happens.”

“Me Grimlock want to be here,” the T-Rex growled.

“We spoke about it already, Grimlock,” Ratchet replied sharply as he looked up from the screen of his computer, where he was reviewing the last code lines a final time before activation. His optics were narrowed at he watched his ‘firstborn’ sternly. “Only medical staff and engineers at first, then when we’re sure they’re both alright, you and your brothers can get introduced. Even before Optimus,” he added before Grimlock could start whining and yapping again at the unfairness of it all.

Surprisingly (or not), the idea of meeting his new ‘baby siblings’, as the Dinobots were referring to the two frames about to be brought online, before Prime himself seemed to completely mollify the T-Rex. He backed away a bit, though he was not convinced yet to leave the room.

“Him Soundwave not engineer,” he pouted.

“True, he’s not, but him Soundwave did most of the corrective coding patches for your siblings, and he’s going to make sure they have integrated,” Wheeljack explained, finishing to solder a wire in a partly denuded shoulder – apparently, he hadn’t been satisfied with his previous work. In some ways, the talkative sport car could be more perfectionist than Hook. “Plus, he’s going to be ‘Mama’ too; it’s only right he’s here for the ‘babies’ first steps.”

“Soundwave: not ‘Mama’,” the telepath protested yet again, only for his comment to fall into deaf audios. He wondered why he bothered still when it was obvious they weren’t listening to him (or were having too much fun to stop, he wasn’t certain which).

“Him Soundwave is,” Swoop cheerfully piped from the doorway, through which he was peeking. Unlike Grimlock, though, he wasn’t trying to enter, probably realizing the room was getting too crowded as it was. “Him Soundwave is doing Clang-Clang with Mama Ratchet, so him Mama too now.”

“Assumption: illogical,” Soundwave tried again. “Appellation: Papa: more appropriate.” That was how it worked for organics, wasn’t it? A paternal and maternal unit, called ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’. If Ratchet was ‘Mama’, then Soundwave had to be ‘Papa’, if the Dinobots really wanted to call him with those Earth terms.

Except that, apparently, they had a different logic when it came to Ratchet and Wheeljack and whoever they were ‘doing the Clang-Clang’ with (thank you, Wheeljack, for this expression; Soundwave was never going to be able to forget it even if he tried).

For some reason, whoever Ratchet ended in couple with was another ‘Mama’ and whoever Wheeljack decided to bring to his berth for more than a fortnight was another ‘Papa’ in the making. It made no sense whatsoever, but both the medic and the engineer had advised for him to drop the matter.

He couldn’t. But that was another story.

“Alright children, let your Mamas and Papa work, okay? I promise it won’t be long until you can properly meet your baby siblings,” Wheeljack cajoled, putting his hands on Grimlock’s massive thighs and trying to push him backward toward the door. Due to his size next to the Dinobot, it wasn’t really working, at least until Swoop sighed and grabbed Grimlock’s arm to pull him.

“You Grimlock come,” he insisted. “Let them Ratchet and Wheeljack and Soundwave work.”

“Me Grimlock want to be here,” the T-Rex grumbled, though he let himself be dragged.

“And you Grimlock want to see next episode of cartoon, yes?” Swoop replied. “Is almost hour, you Grimlock gonna miss it. Him Slag and him Sludge already in front of TV,” he added with emphasis.

That made Grimlock move, the massive mech bellowing loudly about not missing little ponies adventures (whatever it was) and not ‘letting him Slag spoil it to him’. Swoop sent a wink their way before running after Grimlock, letting Soundwave bemused. Whatever. If some human cartoon show let them be Dinobot-free for the next cycle, he was all for it.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing it,” Wheeljack confided in a hush after he managed to ‘lock’ the door (which wouldn’t stop the Dinobots if they decided they really wanted to enter, but you had to keep some illusion of control in your life).  
“Wheeljack: brought online other mechs before,” Soundwave pointed out. “Experience: nothing new.”

The engineer flustered. “Well, yes, but it’s like… Every time is different, you know?”

“Unique,” Ratchet commented. He had stayed silent during the last bout of Dinobot drama, but now he had finally put down his scanner and he was looking at Wheeljack and Soundwave with a soft expression on his face. “I could be doing it for the rest of my life and I would still find it emotionally moving. Always.”

“Soundwave: understand,” the telepath said after a moment. He had created enough Cassettes to understand and share the feeling.

Granted, it was the first time he was going to bring online a ‘Cassette’ as big as this one, he reflected as he looked down on the two still ‘sleeping’ frame waiting for activation.

That Optimus Prime and Megatron both accepted to sign on the Cold Construction of a new medical unit wasn’t really surprising, given the sheer number of troops under their command and the lack of sufficiently qualified personnel. That they had accepted the reasoning behind onlining the new medic with systems akin to a Deployer to give him a ‘personal assistant’/’bodyguard’/’scout unit’ to localize wounded and signal their localization was also not that surprising, although Soundwave had expected more of a fight.

But that Optimus Prime, Megatron and their respective advisors had either collectively lost their minds or decided things were really _that_ grim and validate the idea to make the new medic and his ‘Cassette’ part of the Dinobot subgroup, it was mindboggling.

If Soundwave hadn’t assisted to the meetings himself, he would have sworn blackmail or mental manipulations of some kind had been involved. Primus knew Red Alert had leveled many suspicious glares at him, but Soundwave was perfectly innocent. Wheeljack and Ratchet were just that persuasive.

And… yes, perhaps Soundwave had glared a lot and spoke with a clipped voice over Ratchet’s recent exhaustion bouts which **weren’t acceptable at all** , but that had been it.

And here were the results of several weeks’ worth of work: a pair of brand new Dinobots who were only waiting for the right signal to be brought online for the first time.

The Spark had been introduced one human day ago and had brought color forward on the frames, yellow and red and grey, fitting for Dinobots. Despite himself, Soundwave moved to stand next to Ratchet and put a hand on the closest frame, the ‘Cassette’ one, the one he had been the most involved in designing. Transformation cogs and mass-shrinking process were a delicate work to go through, but one Soundwave had felt comfortable working on while Wheeljack and Ratchet squabbled over other details.

It was only a Cassette in the loosest sense of the word, for the frame was almost as tall as a Minibot. But, given the size of the Deployer, it was rather proportionate, he mused as he looked at the other one, the future medic.

Just like the Cassette didn’t look much like one, it was hard to say the bigger mech was going to be a medic at first glance. They had talked a lot about the altmode design, digging into human files on dinosaur species to find something more or less adequate. In the end, they had opted for what humans called a ‘Velociraptor’ for the Cassette and a more ‘armored’ design for the medic, their choice stopping on a species called Edmontonia. With all the spiky ends on his armors, designed for passive defense, the reinforced, heavy plating and the natural strength of medic, this new mech wouldn’t be one to be trifled with.

“I hope he’ll be as good as we hope,” Ratchet breathed next to him and Soundwave reached to take his hand.

“Affirmative,” he said with conviction. “Ratchet: made everything necessary. New medic: will be fantastic.” He was convinced of it. How could have he not?

Ratchet had spent cycles upon cycles stuffing medical programs in the CPU, downloading and installing softwares to increase and ease the retention of information. A process greatly simplified by the fact Ratchet had done so once already when repairing the Protectobot First Aid. He had made sure Wheeljack reworked the sensors in the Dinobot’s hands thrice, until he was satisfied with their level of sensitivity. He had prepared lessons plans for his new Apprentice to follow in order to learn how to use programming and tools, for Primus’ sake.

“Our children: will be perfect,” he vowed, making Ratchet’s lips quip.

“Our children, uh? It has a nice ring,” the medic allowed, squeezing his hand. “How about we wake them up? It’s high time they join us, don’t you think?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave nodded while Wheeljack gave them a thumb up.

“Alright! Let’s do it!” he chirped.

Next to him, Ratchet’s EM field buzzed. Anxiousness was the most present feeling he exulted and Soundwave couldn’t blame him. He too was nervous. Designing a mech was one thing, but you could never be fully certain you hadn’t failed a check spot, nor did you have any input on the personality your Creations would develop in the end. Programming only went that far.

Still, for all their collective nervous temper – yes, even Wheeljack – they set to work as quickly and efficiently as possible. Switches were inversed, buttons pushed, circuits activated and steps taken back as the two forms on the giant medical berth started slowly to stir.

“It never gets old,” Wheeljack breathed, optics riveted on the scene. Soundwave just nodded in agreement and squeezed one of Ratchet’s hand, who squeezed back just as hard.

Optics onlined and slowly, so slowly, the two newly made mechs sat. They looked around with an air of confusion that made Soundwave’s Spark flutter, especially when their gaze fell on him. The biggest mech had large blue optics and an expression of innocence. The smaller one, a red optical band and an air of suspicion as he let his gaze wander on Wheeljack and Ratchet. If you added their respective size, they looked like polar opposites.

“Onlining complete,” Wheeljack said, and Ratchet took a few steps forward.

“Hello,” he said carefully. “Can you hear me?” Both newly onlined mechs focused on him. Soundwave just stayed still as the world seemed to shift.

Now was the time to discover if yes or no, they had gotten it right.

It was the bigger mech who spoke first.

“I… hear. Who… are you?”

Well, so far, it was encouraging. The elocution was a little slower than Soundwave would have liked, but the speech pattern was less fractured than on the other Dinobots at the time of their activation. From the records Ratchet kept, Grimlock, Slag and Sludge had originally been mute, their vocalizers not kicking in until much later.

“I am Ratchet,” the medic said, smiling widely. “And those are Soundwave and Wheeljack. We’re your makers.”

“Makers?” the large mech repeated. “Maker: someone who… makes… Creates… something or someone,” he said carefully. “You… made me?”

“Yes, we did,” Wheeljack nodded frantically, vocal indicators flashing bright. “All three of us worked on your creation, and that of your sibling.”

“Sibling… someone who shares makers or ‘parents. I have a sibling,” the large mech said, head tilted, looking at the smaller, silent mech by his side, who had yet to say something and looked at them with a narrowed optical band. For some reason, it made Soundwave nervous, as if he was being watched by a predator.

… Oh. He kinda was, wasn’t he? They had modeled their first common creation on an herbivorous creature with a thick hide, but the smaller one had been conceived with a predatory altmode in mind, due to the duties they wanted to assign him. Of course he was a watchful sort – one who was ready to pounce already.

“Desist!” he snapped at the smaller mech the moment he saw him move. The smaller frame, one which was barely the height of a Minibot, stilled immediately.

“… Why must I?” the smaller mech said, his first words – and they made them all utterly freeze in place. Not because they were threatening (it was just plain old curiosity in that tone, as well as a sullen undercurrent that reminded Soundwave strongly of Ravage in a mood when he didn’t want to obey but still did anyway), oh no.

Because the voice’s harmonics were higher in tone and frequency than anticipated. Much higher. Femme-like higher.

“Oh sweet Primus!” Wheeljack blurted out. “Can you say more, please?”

The optical band flashed, the equivalent of a blink. The smaller mech (not a mech, not a mech!) looked at them all, obviously bemused. “Why do you want me to say?” Well, if anything, the elocution was clear and precise, on par with that of a normal, Vector Sigma induced mech. That was a relief, Soundwave thought distractedly, still staring.

Femme, his mind supplied.

Their second collective Creation, which they had intended and designed with a mech’s stats in mind, was a Femme.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, but… it was unexpected to say the least.

Ratchet cursed, scanner wiping out of subspace to wave it over the smaller Dinobot. “I don’t believe it! Spontaneous mutation upon settling in the Spark chamber?” he asked aloud.

“Very likely,” Wheeljack approved. “I mean, it’s not an unrecorded phenomenon and it wasn’t even that rare once upon a time, but what were the chances…?”

“Is something wrong… with my sibling?” the bigger Dinobot asked worriedly. “Are you feeling unwell, sibling?” he asked the smaller frame, who shrugged.

“Don’t think so? They’re the ones who are weird,” she replied, harrumphing and crossing her arms over her chest. That one was going to have a temper, Soundwave thought as he watched her. Seemed like Slag wouldn’t be the only problem child anymore.

“Can I help?” the big mech turned toward Ratchet, who kept scanning and scanning and mumbling unintelligently at the results. His speech was starting to become more fluid, which was a good sign. And apparently, the medical protocols he had been created with and for were starting to kick in, because he was watching Ratchet’s actions with big optics and open curiosity, but also a glint of recognition. His databanks were most likely opening up and delivering him with the information he had been programmed with already: locomotion, recognition of medical devices and processes, extended medical vocabulary in Earth languages and Cybertronian glyph, transformation,…

And a sense of self and awareness that should guide him toward his self-professed designation.

For all they have designed the physical frames and encoded their CPU, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Soundwave had balked at naming their ‘Creations’. Well, mostly Soundwave; Ratchet and Wheeljack had come up with designations for the other Dinobots themselves and those designations stuck and felt _right_ , but the fact still sat somewhat wrong with Soundwave. Perhaps it was due to his own coding and the customs and traditions inherent to Cassettes Holders. Cassettes weren’t assigned a name, they chose it themselves. Occasionally, a Deployer could rename one of his cohorts, but it was done on the Cassette’s wish and in a matter of settled circumstances, such as picking a new Holder or getting a reformat. As it was, Soundwave had not wanted to name the two Dinobots while they were in construction, and Ratchet and Wheeljack had eventually agreed.

(They still had gotten them nicknames, because talking about ‘big’ and ‘small’ Dinobot got redundant past a certain point, but nicknames were okay; they weren’t official designation.

Though in retrospect, the choice of calling ‘Sugar’ and ‘Spice’ had been strangely foreshadowing.)

Soundwave clasped his hands behind his back, standing ramrod. If he was right, then one of the most important moment of the onlining process was about to happen, and he felt honored to be here for it.

“Query: what are your designations?” Soundwave asked the pair, who looked at him with equal surprise. Did they find his question unclear, or was it Soundwave’s own unique speech pattern which was throwing them out of the loop?

“Designation: a name. You want to know our names?” the bigger mech asked, blinking. “Oh. I…” he paused, optics furrowed in a frown as he seemed to think hard about his answer. All of them stayed silent, Ratchet having stopped his scan and Wheeljack’s vocal indicators having dimmed as they waited for THE answer. “I think my name is… Skar,” the big mech – Skar replied at long last with a nod. “Yes. I am Skar. Nice… to meet you?” he added quizzically.

Soundwave’s Spark threatened to burst with pride, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Nice to meet you too, Skar!” Wheeljack cheered.

“Nice to meet you,” Ratchet added more calmly before turning to their surprise Femme. “And you? Do you know your designation too?”

The Femme scoffed. “Why should I tell you?”

Troublemaker child, check, Soundwave thought as a nervous bubble of laugher threatened to escape his vocalizer. Newly onlined or not, no one backtalked to Ratchet like that without getting introduced to The Wrench, even if it was only waved under their olfactive sensor. From the thunderous look on his lover’s face, it was what was going to happen in short order.

“My sibling’s name is Slash,” Skar replied amiably before blinking. “Strange. How do I know that?”

Slash’s scowl grew. “Why did you tell them? Didn’t want you to!” she snapped unhappily. “And how do you know? Didn’t tell you!”

“Oh. I’m sorry?” Skar asked, rubbing the back of his helm awkwardly. “I don’t know, I just… knew?” he shrugged helplessly. “Are you really angry at me, sibling?”

“Yes! No! Slash… I don’t know,” Slash scowled again, throwing her hands in the air before huffing and turning away from her brother. “I’m ‘sister’, by the way. Not ‘sibling’.”

“Alright, sister,” Skar nodded. A truly gentle Spark, it seemed. Very polite. Would he remain so after spending some time around Ratchet and his apparently abrasive younger sister, now, that remained to be seen. “Makers? Why did I know about Slash’s name? And…” he paused, optics ridges furrowed. “Why do I… hear her? In my head, I mean?” He tapped at the side of his helm in confusion. “She’s not saying anything aloud, but I feel…” he trailed off, uncertain. His databanks hadn’t provided him with the adequate vocabulary yet, apparently.

Soundwave took a step forward and put a hand over Skar’s massive servo. “Soundwave: can explain.” After all, whom better than him to explain Cassettes and Holders’ bond to a fellow Deployer model, albeit one of a very different making?

Skar and Slash were attentive listeners, he would grant them that, but they seemed to be mostly confused by his explanations, which chagrined Soundwave. Well, Skar looked confused and Slash looked unhappy, but he was starting to think it was her default expression.

“I do not understand,” Skar tilted his head to the side. “You say I’m supposed to be able to ‘host’ sister Slash, but I don’t have a chest like yours, so how can I?”

“Cassettes: aren’t always deployed from chest cavity, though this way: most frequent,” Soundwave explained again. “Skar: different. Slot: installed between two layers of back platting. Idea: to have a reinforced cavity for Cassette protection.”

“Is silly,” Slash grunted. “Slash doesn’t need protection.” Soundwave was almost tempted to agree with her; he had seen the kind of talons her altmode spotted, and he had been the one to insist for retractable blades in her wrists. Whoever would be on the other end would regret it. However, she still remained a newspark who needed time to adjust and needed to test her might. It was just as well they hadn’t intended for her to be frequently ‘docked’ into her Deployer; he had the feeling she would hate it.

“But how does sister get in and outside the slot?” Skar asked.

“Skar and Slash: wish for me to repeat how docking and ejection process work?”

“Maybe later,” Ratchet gently put in, clasping a hand over his shoulder. “We still need to check out if their transformation cogs work smoothly. Perhaps a technical demonstration would help them understand what you mean better?”

Soundwave nodded briefly, understanding the request for what it was. He transformed several times in a row, watching as Skar’s mouth opened and his optics widened in surprise while Slash looked at it all with a petulant expression. Slag might have found a new favorite sibling, Soundwave thought dimly as he asked Buzzsaw to deploy, projecting the Cassette in the room which he circled twice before perching himself on a shelf, stretching his wings before Soundwave called him back.

The ‘ooooh’ of understanding Skar made felt very rewarding, but his eagerness died a little as Slash tapped her foot on the floor, clearly not as eager to try to transform and fit under her brother’s armor as Skar was to try the process.

“And that how you deploy a Cassette,” Ratchet informed the pair of new Dinobots, clasping his hands to get their attention. “Do you want to try?”

“Don’t want!” Slash snapped, huffing. “Tiny enough, do not want to be tinier.”

“Now, now, Slash,” Wheeljack said soothingly, raising his hands, “it’s not as bad as you seem to think…” He took a step back when she bared her dental plates at him. “And I thought Slag had a temper,” he muttered.

“Slag? Who is Slag?” Skar asked, head tilted to the side as he turned away from Ratchet, with whom he had been exchanging a few words in a low voice.

“Oh, that’s one of your older siblings,” Wheeljack chirped. “You got five of them; Slag, Snarl, Swoop, Sludge and Grimlock. They’re very eager to meet you both – once we’re finished testing you,” he added quickly when Ratchet gave him a look.

Slash crossed her arms and glared. “Don’t want to become tiny,” she warned again. “Tiny is ridiculous. Why Skar gets to be big?”

“Because when we made your schematics, we needed a big and a small frame and you got the short stick,” Ratchet said dryly, earning an unimpressed look from both Wheeljack and Soundwave in the process and a scowl from Slash. “More seriously, you two were designed as a complementary pair. Your size might not please you yet, but I’m certain you’ll grow into it – no, that wasn’t a pun,” the medic added as the unimpressed look continued, sighing. “Alright, it was clumsy of me, I hereby present you my excuses; happy?”

“No,” Slash said immediately. She eyed Soundwave’s chest, then Skar. She didn’t look exactly uneasy, but…

“Slash: afraid?” Soundwave asked, keeping his voice neutral; he had a feeling she wouldn’t react well to compassion, she was already too proud (though her ill temper was nothing next to some of the Decepticons he had known over the millennia). He could understand her apprehension over transforming, though. He himself had been quite puzzled by the mass displacement when he had first tried it and only time and habit had let him grown out of it.  
Slash growled. “Not afraid! Never!”

“Of course not,” Ratchet interjected soothingly. “You’re already a fierce warrior, we can all see that. That said, nobody said you had to become… ‘tiny’ just yet. After all, you might be able to fold into a Cassette, but you can also turn into a, ah, ‘proper Dinobot’,” he coughed. “Just like Skar,” he nodded toward the bigger newspark, who perked up.

“I do?” he asked before blinking. “What’s a… proper Dinobot, Maker?” he added with confusion, making the ‘adult’ mechs in the room smile.

“Ah, why don’t you find out?” Ratchet offered. “Go ahead, start your transformation sequence – just follow the protocols I highlighted for you – and show your sister how it’s done,” he waved in Slash’s direction.

It wasn’t exactly a smooth process, Soundwave noted. The transformation itself was programmed to be seamless, but due to Skar’s obvious hesitation, it was slow and uneven, the parting and folding of the limbs and plating and the shifts of the cogs almost stalling a couple times. At one point, Soundwave was almost certain Skar would just reverse the sequence altogether, too afraid to continue, but the newspark held true and after a few moment, a robotic Edmontonia stood before them.

And was accidentally pushing the berth away with his tail.

“Oops,” Wheeljack rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe we should have made more room before testing that transformation, uh?”

“Maybe,” Ratchet replied flatly. Thankfully, putting the Medbay in order wouldn’t be too hard and it wasn’t as if there was any equipment too fragile or expensive left on display to be accidentally broken. The medic had at least the sense to foresee that potential problem. “So, how does it feel, Skar?” he asked more gently, slowly turning around the transformed newspark. Soundwave imitated him, looking approvingly at the result.

“It feels… right,” Skar said after a moment, shuffling in place. He looked like he wanted to wave his tail right and left but understood instinctively it probably wouldn’t be a very good idea. Smart mech, Soundwave thought with a smile behind his facemask.

“Oh, aren’t you gorgeous,” Wheeljack gushed, running a hand along one of the Edmontonia’s spiky protrusions. Gorgeous wasn’t quite the word Soundwave would have used himself, but he agreed with the feeling; Skar was really good-looking, a fine example of their genius when it came to the common sharing of engineering and frame-building.

Nodding to himself, he turned toward Slash, who’s expression had become far more interested. “Slash: willing to try?”

“Not be tiny?” she asked suspiciously.

“Well, you will be much smaller than Skar,” Wheeljack temporized, “but you won’t be as tiny as Buzzsaw when he folds. Please, Slash? You don’t have to do it for long, we just want to be certain it works right,” he cajoled.

Slash pouted but after looking a moment longer at Skar, she relented. They didn’t even need to point out to her which files she needed to open and which protocols she needed to follow; just like Skar, she was a fast learner, though Soundwave had the feeling that unlike her brother, she would ever hardly ask for help. It would bear watching in the future in order to make sure she did nothing stupid or dangerous – or both. From the look on Ratchet’s face and the look they both traded, the medic had reached the same conclusions.

Hmm. Perhaps he could assign Ravage to follow her around? He was used to difficult characters and he took slag from no one, so he’d be able to handle himself around the temperamental newspark.

For now, though, he was happy to just watch her discover more about her body (even if he would probably have to fight with her over making her test her Cassette mode) as she activated her transformation cog. The process was faster and smoother than for Skar, although it still showed newness and hesitance one didn’t find anymore in more experienced ‘bots.

Deadly talons scratched the floor and a maw opened, revealing sharp dental plates. A long tail whipped around, forcing Ratchet to duck least it’d hit him.

“Careful,” he warned with a frown, though he was smiling too. “Well, that doesn’t seem too bad, does it? How do you find your altmode, Slash? Comfortable?”

“Yeeeeesssss,” the female Dinobot hissed happily, bending her legs as if she was ready to jump – and she was, Soundwave realized with alarm.

“Slash: desist!” he snapped, though it was a bit late. Thankfully, Slash just jumped on the nearest berth, showing a rapidity and agility just as great as they had hoped. The joints system they had chosen was working well.

“Slash is so fast!” Skar exclaimed in awe, and Slash visibly preened. She looked like she was finally mellowing.

And of course, it was the moment Grimlock, Swoop, Slag, Snarl and Sludge decided to come back in because their ‘cartoon’ was over and they collectively decided that they had enough waiting to meet their new siblings.

Oh, Soundwave understood; when Ratbat had been created, Laserbeak, Rumble and Frenzy had been pretty much the same. It was still annoying, though.

“Are them siblings awake?” Grimlock bellowed, the first to enter, his brothers on his heels.

Slash was moving before anyone had the time to stop her or even thought about it. With a furious hiss, she was running (so fast!) toward Grimlock, throwing herself bodily at him, using her talons and claws to dig into his plating and climb on him before opening her jaw and bitting.

“Slash!” Ratchet screamed! “Stop that immediately!”

“Slash! Bad girl!” Wheeljack shouted at the same time as Soundwave barked “Slash: desist!” Skar, didn’t say anything, but he hit the floor nervously with one of his pedes and took a step back, bumping into a berth and pushing it further away – he was still in his dinosaur mode, after all.

“Girl? We be having sister?” Swoop asked from his position behind Grimlock, apparently unconcerned by the way she was attacking the T-Rex. Then again, Grimlowk had very thick plating, so perhaps he didn’t see the point. Slag chuckled at the display while Snarl looked bored. Sludge’s attention was all on Skar, toward whom he was happily waving in greeting. Soundwave even noticed Skar waved his tail back in hesitant greeting.

“Sister looks fun,” Slag said amusedly.

“Aww: her Slash gives love bites, it is cute,” Grimlock cooed, not bothered by the littlest, newest Dinobot’s frenzy of bites.

That made the other mechs in the room who weren’t Dinobots pause.

“’Love bites’,” Wheeljack repeated meekly, looking at Grimlock as if he was crazy – Soundwave couldn’t blame him, he was doing the same thing. “Sure, let’s roll with it. Slash? Be nice and stop, ah, mauling your brother, okay?” he called out.

Slash growled and slashed at Grimlock again with the talons but somehow, against all hopes, she listened to Wheeljack and relented, jumping down the bigger Dinobot’s back and backing off with a warning hiss.

Grimlock just chuckled. “Her Slash fierce; true Dinobot,” he said approvingly, seemingly unperturbed by the claw marks littering his frame. “But,” he added, pointing a finger at her with a warning glow in his optic band, “me Grimlock: King. Not her Slash. So her Slash better be listening. Me Grimlock is older brother, so you Slash listen to me.”

“I listen if I want! Can’t make me!” Slash hissed as she transformed, leaving her Velociraptor aspect for her root mode, putting her fists on her hips and baring her dental plates, letting it change into a scowl when Grimlock just threw his head back and laughed. She looked at him then at her siblings intently, looking profoundly unhappy. If Soundwave had to guess, he’d said that it was because she was comparing her height to theirs and she was unsatisfied with the difference. Her scowl grew more pronounced as a result.

“You big oaf stop laughing!” she snapped, letting a warning growl escape her vocalizer.

She knew a lot about posturing already, Soundwave thought as he moved closer to Skar, who was watching the influx of new arrival with bemused optics.

“They are… my brother?” he asked hesitantly as Soundwave, who gave a nod. “Oh… Hello, brothers,” he said politely, also transforming back to root mode and forcing Soundwave to back off until he was bumping into Ratchet.

The medic grabbed him by the waist and held him close as they watched Skar cautiously approach the other Dinobots. Grimlock was still arguing with Slash, but the others immediately surrounded him to introduce themselves and soon enough, they could see the unease leaves the newest Dinobot’s frame.

“Well, it looks like they’re ready to take them both into the fold; that’s a relief,” Ratchet murmured at his audio receptor, to which Soundwave nodded.

“Quite,” he agreed. Skar would be just fine, they both knew it. His mellow character would work well with Sludge and Swoop and since he wasn’t about to challenge Grimlock (as far as they could see anyway), the T-Rex would be just happy to watch over him too. “Integration: may be slightly rocky for Slash,” he amended as he watched her launch herself at Grimlock, who just caught her by the waist and held her out at arm’s length with a booming laugh, calling her ‘cute’, much to Slash’s fury. She wasn’t shrieking as high as Starscream, but she certainly made a valiant effort at it, the telepath noted. Wheeljack however near them, trying (vainly) to get Slash to calm down or Grimlock to release her.

“Naw,” Ratchet waved his concern asides, lips brushing against Soundwave’s cheek. “They won’t hurt her. She’s already part of the ‘pack’.”

“And Slash: won’t hurt them?” he asked dryly in return.

“You heard Grimlock: she gives them love bites,” the medic replied in the same tone. “Though I wonder if he’ll still call them thus when said ‘love bites’ will help render a Quintesson to pieces.”

Soundwave gave a dark chuckle at the mental imagine; he couldn’t wait to find out. It would serve them right, he decided.

Soon, Ratchet would be able to start Skar’s medical training and would help relieve the strained medical corps, while Slash would learn to use her compact size, her agility, her rapidity and her inbuild weapons to make her enemies’ life a leaving hell and protect her brother/Deployer.

It was hard to say how they would grow up exactly, but their base personality was already pulling at Soundwave’s Spark.

“Our children: perfect,” he murmured, leaning fully against the medic, who nodded.

“Yes,” Ratchet agreed, watching them all with a smile. “Perfect.”

****

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the story is over and done. Which doesn't mean I won't return to it today; perhaps I'll get the inspiration for a side story or two -- God knows that I made enough side references to other characters to prompt further ideas in this verse ^^
> 
> But in the meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed your ride through those 29 chapter of Soundwave/Ratchet pairing.
> 
> See you around for more stories!


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